


Not So Easily Defined

by Aggie2011



Series: Vantage Point Universe [25]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, No Slash, Romance, Valentine's Day, clint plays cupid for the team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aggie2011/pseuds/Aggie2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Valentine's Day pending, Clint finds himself playing Cupid's helper for the team.  *Vantage Point Universe*No-Slash*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thor

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace_ **_constructive_ ** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

_Copyright Notice: Please do not copy or repost my work without my expressed permission. I have recently discovered an issue with plagiarism, in that another person had copy/pasted my work and was claiming it as their own on another site. I've dealt with the situation, but I plead with readers to keep an eye out on other sites. If you see something of mine on another site other than the following, it is NOT me. Please inform me immediately! I am published on_ _**AO3** _ _under the name_ _**Aggie2011** _ _and_ _**tumblr** _ _under the name_ _**aggie2011whoop** _ _. Thanks for looking out y'all!_

* * *

_We are back! If you're in the States HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY! My husband is in the Navy, so today is especially special (say that 5 times real fast :P) to me. I also have created a tumblr account that is completely dedicated to the Vantage Point Universe. It has character profiles, an intricate timeline, and fan art! I'm working to get all the stories posted there too, it's just taking some time. Go check it out and follow it! my username there is_ **aggie2011whoop** _(aggie2011 was taken by someone who doesn't even have any content posted :[ )_

_This is just a fun little one-shot that's meant to make you laugh. I'm hoping - emphasis on the 'hoping' - to be able to publish something new every month, even if its just a fun little one shot like this one :D I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it._

_Special thanks to_ **Kylen** _my number one beta. I asked her one day, hey, if I were to crank out a one-shot just for fun, what would you want to see? And she was like "something with Thor" and then added "something where Clint has to teach him something, or explain something"...and I was like - Clint teaches Thor to cook...done. And here we are :D_

_Also thanks to_ **JRBarton** _who is my third set of eyes on every fic :D This author couldn't ask for a better team in her corner._

_Now, have a laugh on me..._

* * *

_Love – real love – can't be defined. It just is.  
_ _**Elizabeth Scott** _

* * *

_February 13, 2013  
4:34 p.m._

Clint shifted, lowering his body out slowly out of the handstand he'd been holding. He bent his elbows slightly, lowering his chin towards the floor even as he bent his knees, lightly bracing them along the back of his upper arm. He blew out a slow, even breath and kept his eyes closed. Beyond the physical challenge, this was supposed to be calming. That's what Natasha had insisted the first time she'd talked him into doing the complicated yoga routine with her. Clint hadn't yet found whatever 'calm place' he was supposed to go to while they moved through the poses.

They'd been doing yoga together for well over three years.

But lack of 'happy place' aside, it was a hell of a workout. And Clint stood by that, no matter  _what_  Tony said.

Next to him, Natasha rested in an identical pose, hair pulled back in a messy pony tail, and her face the picture of serene calm.

Neither of them moved when heavy footfalls approached. It was Thor, Clint could tell by the gait. Heavy steps, but confident and determined as well. Not like Bruce, who walked like he was surrounded by eggshells. And Tony, who walked like he was a puppy in a room full of new toys. Steve walked with determined intensity most of the time, but with cautious shyness when the scrawny little good ol' boy from New York was peeking through. And Natasha, well, even if you were looking right at her, you wouldn't hear her footfalls, silent but oh so deadly.

Thor paused in front of Clint, standing silently for a long moment. Clint could feel the Asgardian studying him.

"Your ability to hold yourself with such balance inspires me with awe, noble archer…as does your ability to do the same, Lady Natasha."

Neither of them responded, but instead moved in practiced synchronization into their next pose.

"Your movements are as if you were of one mind," Thor praised with awe in his tone. "Tell me, how did you come to be in such tune with one another?"

Instead of answering, because  _that_  was a question with a hell of a lot of answers, Clint got to the point, opening his eyes to look up at the alien god.

"You need something, Thunder Dome? Or did you just stop by to pay us compliments?"

Thor chuckled deeply, crouching to be closer to eye level with Clint.

"The humor with which you speak amuses me greatly, noble archer."

Clint shook his head slightly as he and Natasha moved in tandem to a new position. Thor was a beast of a man, as fierce as they came, and ruthless when it was needed…but he was always so damn  _kind_  and polite. Clint had never met anybody like him. And people called  _Clint_  a walking contradiction. You didn't get more contrary than a hammer-wielding, warrior god who went out of his way to compliment his friends at every turn. He didn't bother responding the Asgardian, waited instead for him to explain what he needed.

"I do, in fact, have but one request to make of you."

Clint tilted his head so he could meet Thor's gaze, and arched an eyebrow in question.

"As you know, I leave to visit my Jane this very evening, with the purpose of being with her to celebrate the day of your saint Valentine on the morrow."

"He's not  _my_  saint," Clint put in under his breath. Thor either didn't hear him, or ignored him. But Natasha shot him a quelling glare.

"I utilized the world wide web to find what would be considered the most romantic way to celebrate with my Jane."

"It's just called the internet," Clint corrected with a huffed chuckle.

"Yes, well, I come to inquire as to one of the romantic suggestions I happened upon."

Natasha coughed a poorly concealed laugh, eyes closed again as they shifted to the next pose.

"And what makes you think  _Clint_  knows anything about romance?"

Clint glared at her, and though her eyes remained closed, she smiled…as if she could feel it and was amused by it.

"You complaining?"

"Just pointing out that he could be talking to a better source." The teasing grin on her face took any insult out of the words.

"Guess I'll take back that new holster I got you, then."

"Holster?" Thor questioned in confusion.

"It's for her favorite Makarov," Clint explained with a glance at the blonde god. Thor nodded slowly as Clint looked back to Natasha.

" _That's_  how you spell romance? With gun powder and bullets?"

"Hell, just speaking your language, Tash."

The smile she shot him now was genuine and lacked any sort of teasing.

"If I may…" Thor interjected, drawing Clint's attention back to him.

"Right, fire away, Big Guy. What's on your mind?"

"In my searching, I came upon a list that seemed to be quite thorough."

"What was the site?" Natasha asked cautiously.

Clint waited for the answer, too. Who the hell knew what Thor might have stumbled on?

"I believe it was titled 'Cosmo'."

Clint snorted, grinning at the mental image of Thor leafing through a Cosmo magazine.

"And what did  _Cosmo_  have to say?" he asked, shifting position once again.

"In the '10 ways to seduce a woman' it suggested utilizing a skill for which you, my friend, possess quite the talent."

Clint blinked, glancing at Natasha. She arched an eyebrow and couldn't hold back a smirk. He looked back at Thor. This could be going in a direction he did  _not_  want to travel.

"Tell me you're not talking about –"

"Cooking?" Thor finished with an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, that is  _exactly_  what I am speaking of. How did you know?"

Clint exchanged another glance with Natasha and barely held back a laugh.

"Oh, just a lucky guess, I suppose."

"The Cosmo states preparing a meal for she which one loves is a 'recipe for romance.'"

Clint barely held back a laugh at the earnest look on Thor's face. Instead he grinned triumphantly.

"Ha! I cook for you  _all_ the time." He shot at Natasha. "How's  _that_  for romance? Cosmo says so."

She fixed with him with a dry look.

"You cook for the rest of the team all the time too…so nice try, but no. Doesn't count."

Clint narrowed his gaze.

"I think it's a  _little_  different with you…remember that time in St. Petersburg? Pretty sure naked cooking has never come into play here in the tower."

"Again," Thor interrupted politely, "if I may…"

But for the moment, they both ignored him.

"We'd just had to swim through a river in the middle of winter….it was either strip or die from hypothermia," Natasha shot back. "Hardly what I'd call a 'recipe for romance.'"

"That's not the tune you were singing after I made you that chicken parm you love so much. If memory serves, you were actually  _quite_ vocal…"

" _If I may_!" Thor tried again, his voice booming a little as he tried to gain their attention once more.

They both fell silent and looked at him, waiting.

"My apologies," Thor began. "I did not mean to raise my voice."

"No worries, Thunder Cat." Clint rolled out of his current pose and shifted to sit Indian style in front of Thor. "Now what were you asking?"

"Would you help me?" Thor asked, eyes lighting hopefully.

"Would I help you what?" Clint asked blankly.

"Cook. Would you educate me as to how one would go about preparing a meal? I would very much like to learn so I may prepare one such meal for my Jane tomorrow in celebration of the day of your Saint V-"

"Valentine, right…got it." Clint waved a hand to show Thor his understood and he could stop explaining.

"I assure you, I will be the most diligent learner. Never before would you have had more willing a student."

"Well I've never really had  _any_  student besides Natasha so the bar isn't really that high…uh,  _ow_." He gingerly rubbed at the back of his head where her foot had impacted as she shifted into a new pose.

"Sorry, my bad." She smirked and played at returning her complete focus to the yoga she'd continued even after Clint had stopped.

"So," Thor cleared his throat, eyes twinkling a little at Clint's expense he was sure, "will you?"

"Teach you?" Clint rubbed absently at a scar hidden on the underside of his jaw, put there almost a year and a half ago now courtesy of Natasha's former boy toy Alexi.

"Yes." Thor nodded earnestly.

"To cook?"

"Yes."

Clint pursed his lips, as if he were contemplating his answer deeply. He really had no problem teaching Thor a few things. But the longer he hesitated, the more Thor's expression resembled a begging puppy and he couldn't help but be amused.

A bare foot jabbed at his ribs.

He slid a sideways glare at Natasha, but she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were closed, a look of utter concentration on her face. Clint narrowed his eyes and briefly entertained the thought of nudging her so she'd topple out of the insanely intricate and balanced pose she was in.

He heard Thor draw in a breath, no doubt to either tell him to forget it or try to regain his attention one more time.

"Sure, Shakespeare, meet me in the kitchen in a half hour."

"You have my deepest and truest gratitude, my friend." Thor reached to clap Clint on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "I will see you in one half of an hour."

Then Thor was walking away, the same determined purpose in his steps that Clint had come to expect.

"Do you realize what you just got yourself into?" Natasha grinned as she eased out of her current pose and relaxed into a cross-legged position. "Thor? With kitchen appliances?"

"It won't be that bad," Clint wasn't able to hold back a grin of his own. "I'll be there to keep him from burning the tower down."

"But you won't be there to keep him from burning Jane's house down."

Clint arched an eyebrow.

"Should we warn her?"

* * *

_30 minutes later…_

* * *

Clint entered the kitchen to find Thor already waiting, arms crossed over his chest.

"Ready?" Clint asked as he nodded in greeting.

"I am most prepared. Where shall we begin?"

"Well, the first step to any good meal is deciding what the hell you want to make…so…what do you want to make?"

Thor's response was immediate and precise.

"Chicken that has been fried, potatoes of mash and chocolate cake."

Clint blinked, arching an eyebrow at the quick reply.

"That is Jane's favorite meal," Thor explained with a sheepish shrug.

Clint nodded.

"Okay then, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and chocolate cake it is." He clapped his hands together and grinned. "Ready?"

Thor nodded enthusiastically.

"All righty, you're gonna need potatoes, butter, chicken, flour…" Clint continued to list ingredients as he helped Thor gather them. Once they had everything they needed, Clint handed Thor the potato peeler and set aside a knife himself.

"First thing we're gonna do is peel and cut the potatoes. They have to be cooked before we can mash them and that can take a while. So, take the peeler and have at it."

Thor weighed the peeler in his hand and then looked at the potato he'd picked up. Very slowly he brought the two together and dragged the peeler along the skin of the potato.

All he peeled off was a layer of brown dust.

"Press a little harder than that, and watch out for your fingers. It's harder to slice yourself with a peeler, but it's not impossible..."

Thor pressed the peeler down harder as he tried again. He managed to cut away chunk of the skin –but also to dislodge his own grip on the potato, sending it sliding right out of his hand. It hit the handle of the knife Clint had set out for himself, sending it careening off the edge of the granite. Clint caught the knife as it fell, fingers finding the flat of the blade with the ease of a lifetime of handling similar weapons. Meanwhile, the potato went bouncing across the counter, knocking over a pepper shaker and then rolling into the sink with a clatter.

For a moment he and Thor both stood there frozen. The Asgardian's expression could only be described as sheepishly embarrassed. And Clint, well, he was doing his level best not to bust out with a laugh at the alien-god's expense.

Clint was the first to move, flipping the knife so he held the handle instead of the blade and reaching for the potato in the sink.

"Maybe not quite  _that_  hard." He handed the potato back. "Try to find a balance between giving it a gentle massage and gouging out a chunk of its flesh."

The sideways glance Thor shot him – filled with humor and amusement at his own expense – made Clint grin.

He watched Thor try once more, this time with success. "There you go. Now peel away all the brown, rinse it and set it aside. We'll cut them when they're all peeled."

Thor nodded, brow furrowed in concentration as he continued to peel. Clint picked up a potato for himself and expertly used his knife to peel it. Once finished, he rinsed it and set it on the counter. He reached for another potato and started again.

He paused when he realized Thor was absolutely still. Very slowly, he glanced up to find the Asgardian watching him closely.

"You are quite skilled with a blade, noble archer."

Clint shrugged, motioned for Thor to keep peeling, and returned to his task.

"I've been playing with knives since I was a kid," he offered by way of explanation.

"I was trained with knives," Thor replied absently as he continued to peel his potato with meticulous precision. "But I always favored blunt force."

Clint smirked. That sounded about right.

"So it's always been you and the hammer?"

Unexpectedly, Thor shook his head, replying even as he proudly showed Clint his peel-less potato.

"I was not given the hammer until I became a man, I believe by earth age I would have been…ten years and five. Until that time, I used a club crafted from the wood of the strongest tree in Asgard." He carefully rinsed his potato and set it down near the one Clint had already finished. He picked up another and began again. "Though in that time, my father had not spoken his spell over my Mjolnir…had he, I am certain I would not have been able to wield it, for even then my heart was ruled by pride and thirst for battle." He shook his head and blew out a sigh. "Would I could speak to my younger self and set him on a better path."

"Yeah, but you do that…maybe you never get sent to Earth by daddy dearest." Clint shrugged and rinsed his peeled potato, adding it to the collection on the counter. He reached for the last one, mentally challenging himself to finish peeling it before Thor finished the one he was working on. "Maybe you never meet Jane…never become an Avenger. The past – even the shitty parts – is what gets us to the present, what points us toward a future."

Clint didn't often think about changing the past, but when he did, his thoughts always went to one moment…Phil. If he could change anything, it would be to save Phil. He'd take every part of his own crappy, painful history if it meant Phil got a future.

Thor's mouth quirked into a grin at the mention of Jane, unaware of Clint's mournful thoughts.

"Your words are wise, my friend. You should use them more often than you do."

Clint paused, knife midway through its path down the length of the potato. Not sure what to say in the face of the compliment, he just did what he did best – said nothing, and continued to peel.

He heard Thor release a sound that seemed to be halfway between a chuckle and a sigh, but mercifully didn't pursue the compliment further.

They finished their potatoes at the same time.

"What comes next?" Thor asked.

"Slice and dice." Clint retrieved two large knives from the fancy knife bock, and held one out hilt first to Thor.

"This," Thor grinned and took the knife, "I will enjoy."

* * *

Clint figured, as he watched Thor carefully dump the freshly cut potatoes into the pot and then move to add water, that it should be counted as a win that nobody lost a finger. The first potato Thor had gone after with the knife, had rolled away because he was too gentle. The second attempt embedded the knife in the cutting board.

Clint had bit his lip to keep from laughing and let Thor work it out for himself.

They'd made it through with no further incident and now it was time for cake.

"It was my understanding that cake was what one called a 'dessert,' which traditionally comes  _after_  the meal." Thor hefted the pot of potatoes over to the stove and carefully turned it on, looking to Clint for confirmation that he'd done it correctly.

Clint gave him a nod.

"It is a dessert, but you don't have to cook in the order that you eat. We're gonna do the cake now so that it can be in the oven while we make the meal. Then it can cool while we eat and be ready for icing by the time dessert rolls around."

Thor nodded, not arguing with the logic.

"Okay…so, first, flour…" Clint pointed at the fresh bag of flour on the counter. Before he realized what was happening, Thor grabbed it and tore it open.

The white explosion was actually quite impressive in its size. Clint, thanking his lucky stars that he was far enough away to only get a dusting, masked a laugh behind a cough as he looked Thor up and down.

The warrior-god's entire face and torso was painted a chalky white. He reached to carefully wipe his eyes even as he coughed.

"Yeah, you're gonna want to open that carefully," Clint added uselessly and with a grin he wasn't able to keep at bay.

"Yes." Thor coughed again. "It would seem."

The measuring went much smoother, as did the adding of the rest of the dry ingredients.

When it came time for the eggs, Clint realized belatedly that he should have seen what came next coming a mile away.

"So you're just gonna crack the egg into the bowl."

Thor delicately picked up an egg and looked to the bowl. He then proceeded to crush it in his hand and drop the shell-infested mess into the bowl.

Clint could only stare and blink blankly.

"Yeah…I set myself up for that one." He reached to fish out a large piece of shell. "Egg shell, not so great to bite into…"

Thor looked stricken, realizing now that he'd done it wrong.

"Don't sweat it. That was my bad. And the first time I baked something, I forgot to add the sugar and it came out tasting like dirt…so  _this_? No big deal."

It took several minutes to retrieve all the pieces of shell. Several  _frustrating_ minutes. But eventually they were able to move on.

"Try it like this," Clint cracked an egg on the side of the bowl and split the shell with his fingers, letting the egg white and yolk fall into the bowl. "I should have showed you that from the beginning." He held out an egg to Thor. "Give it a shot."

Thor duplicated Clint's example almost exactly, though he was so careful not to smash the egg too hard, that it took several knocks against the bowl to yield a result.

"Just use your thumbs…." Clint coached, "good, now toss the shell and we can move on."

"I do believe I am learning the way of this." Thor smiled proudly.

"Well you're not sucking at it," Clint agreed.

A few minutes later he'd guided Thor through the last of the ingredients and helped him use the stand mixer. The cake got put into the oven without further incident.

"See? Easy as pie." Cling tossed Thor a smirk, and waited for the inevitable confusion. He wasn't disappointed.

"Pie? I thought we had prepared cake?"

* * *

Clint nodded in approval at the fully broken down chicken on Thor's cutting board.

"I'm impressed."

"Yes, well, in my youth we hunted a feathered creature called a Winsnope. Its preparation was much like this."

Clint nodded and motioned at the bowls of flour and eggs they'd already prepared.

"We're gonna season the meat then it's into the eggs then into the flour, okay?"

Thor nodded dutifully.

Clint seasoned the chicken himself, needing to be certain it was going to be edible, and then let Thor loose with the eggs and flour, but not without suggesting he keep one hand for the flour and one for the egg. Even with that advice, a few minutes later Thor was examining his hands with a look of revulsion and attempting to scrape off the eggy-flour paste that had coated them.

"This practice is quite disgusting," he commented with a scowl.

"I don't know anybody that's a fan of that part," Clint admitted. "But it'll be worth it."

"And now I place it in this pot of oil you prepared?"

"Yes, and  _carefully_. Slow and steady keeps you from getting an arm full of hot oil and trust me when I say that's no picnic."

Thor nodded seriously and with almost comical care placed each piece of coated chicken in the pot, marveling as the oil bubbled in response.

"Now that is quite fascinating."

"It's a marvel," Clint deadpanned as he busied himself checking the potatoes. Finding them not quite ready, he moved the fridge. "Want a drink?" He retrieved a blue Gatorade for himself and then tossed Thor a questioning look.

"I quite like the crisp taste of the water you on earth contain in a bottle."

"Water bottle it is," Clint muttered mostly to himself as he retrieved one from the shelf and tossed it to the Asgardian. Thor caught it with little effort and leaned sideways against the counter.

"Now we wait?" he asked curiously.

"Now we wait," Clint confirmed. He slid onto one of the bar stools and braced his elbows on the island counter. He picked at the label on his Gatorade and idly wondered if Tony had picked another movie to show tonight. Ever since their unfortunate experience in South Africa, the genius billionaire had taken it upon himself to educate Clint in every genre of cinema.

So far he'd learned that "Rom-Coms" – as Tony called them – were great for napping. Comedy of ten or more years ago was funnier than anything modern. Action movies, while entertaining, were largely implausible. The characters in horror/thrillers were often idiotic. And children's cartoons were oddly soothing – so far Robin Hood was his favorite of those. Though as far as Tony needed to be concerned, Clint only tolerated the other man's Disney fetish.

He'd seen some movies coming into this – despite Tony's belief that he hadn't even known what a 'moving picture'  _was_ until he met Tony. Phil had shown him  _Terminator_ once and all of the  _Lord of the Rings._ There had been others here and there, usually when he'd been laid up in the infirmary and Phil hadn't wanted to sit in silence while Clint read whatever book he was in the middle of.

The thought of Phil had him frowning, and had his thoughts straying to darker places. It was that distraction that kept him from processing Thor's words for several moments, even then, he didn't really comprehend their meaning.

"What's that?" he asked with a blink, and a vaguely apologetic quirk to his lips.

Thor, not seeming bothered at all, spoke again.

"I asked if you think it will work?"

"Do I think what will work?" But even as he said it, he realized. "The cooking?"

Thor nodded, gulping down nearly half of his water bottle in one go.

"Do you think it will provide sufficient romance as woman such as Jane would expect on the day of the saint Valentine?"

Clint shrugged one shoulder, sipping his Gatorade.

"You heard Tasha. What the hell do  _I_ know about romance? It's not really my thing."

Thor's brow furrowed.

"I must disagree."

Clint felt an eyebrow arch and couldn't help but scoff a laugh.

"Come again? You ever seen me carting around flowers or waxing poetic?"

Thor frowned thoughtfully.

"Well, no. However, I do not believe 'carting flowers' and 'waxing poetic' is how Lady Natasha defines romance." Clint was unconvinced and Thor gave him a patient smile before continuing, "Your love for her is written in every action you take. It is in the small things that seem as if they matter not." Thor gave him a knowing look. "That mixed snack she always carries with her? Do you not make that out of love? Is that not romance?"

Clint narrowed his gaze.

"Love is for children."

Thor smiled, all of the tower's occupants no doubt familiar with the phrase.

"Then I am a child," he replied easily. "For I love my Jane."

Clint couldn't help but shake his head in slight awe. Thor would shout that from the rooftops without hesitation if given half an opportunity. And Clint couldn't help but be a little jealous of that abandon. He and Natasha lived in shadow, their entire lives – their survival – hinged on secrecy and subtly. Shouting from the rooftops had never been an option, still wasn't. There were too many enemies watching, waiting for a weakness to be revealed. And even if that weren't the case, what would he even shout? 'Love' just didn't seem to cover what he felt for Natasha, didn't even feel like it came close.

Thor's smile was warm now, and full of understanding.

"We all love in different ways. If we are truly blessed in this life, we find someone who understands how we love and finds a way to return that love in a way that  _we_ understand. One has but to watch you and Lady Natasha together to know that you  _understand_  each other on a level that no one else could ever comprehend. I only hope to one day achieve such depth and devotion with my Jane."

Clint chewed the inside of his lip and focused his attention on the partially peeled wrapper on his Gatorade. Damn, did the god have a way with words.

"I have spoken out of turn and caused you discomfort." Thor sighed. "I oft forget the world of shadow to which you are so accustomed. The world of secrecy in which you oft must still reside." Clint raised his eyes to Thor's in shock. He'd practically echoed Clint's own thoughts from only moments ago. The warrior-god was so goddamned perceptive sometimes it was scary.

"You should check the chicken. It's probably done."

It was one of his go-to moves – deflection. He handed Thor the skimmer and then watched him chase the chicken around the pot in an attempt to fish it out. Once he had all the pieces out and cooling, he turned to Clint with an arched eyebrow.

"Check the potatoes by stabbing them with a fork, if they break up easily, they're done."

Thor picked up the fork Clint had used for the same purpose earlier and jabbed at the floating pieces of potato.

"I believe they are fully cooked."

"Great, pick up the pot…" Thor reached for the handles with his bare hands. " _WITH_  the towel on the handles." Clint added quickly before the Asgardian could make contact. Thor shot him an 'Ah, right' look and obediently used a towel on each handle and shifted the pot off the burner.

And in doing so dragged the edge of the towel across the open flame. The towel ignited, bright orange flames suddenly dancing along the bottom edge, and quickly licking their way up.

At first, Clint just stared, mouth slightly gaping.

"OH!" Thor exclaimed in surprise. He stepped in multiple directions, indecisive about what to do since he still had the pot full of boiling water and potatoes to deal with. "Ahhh…fire, the towel is on  _fire_ …Archer? What…what should I.."

Clint couldn't hold back his laugher anymore and just pointed at the sink.

Thor took two large steps and deposited the pot on one side of the sink, dropping the towel down on the opposite side of the divide. Clint, who'd followed him, flipped on the water and doused the flames.

"Well," he clapped a frazzled-looking Thor on the shoulder, "I guess we can consider that your trial by fire."

* * *

Natasha wasn't sure what she expected when she followed Tony and Pepper into the kitchen, with Bruce trailing behind. Maybe she was expecting singed walls or burnt food. She was pleasantly surprised when instead of smoke, her nose picked up on the familiar scents.

"Oh…my…God." Tony stated slowly as he abruptly erupted in a fit of raucous laughter. Beside him, Pepper started giggling. Curious now, Natasha nudged her way past them and took in the scene.

The bark of laughter escaped without her consent, but really, she didn't think she could be blamed.

Clint had his elbows braced on the counter a look of something like a mixture of chagrin and humor painted across his expression. Thor was standing stock still, a hand mixer in his hand and hovering just above a large bowl.

Both of them were covered in a layer of what looked like deliciously creamy mashed potatoes.

Thor looked like he had a dusting of…flour? Beneath that.

A sudden sound of a shutter had her glancing at Tony. He was grinning madly and adjusting the screen on his phone. The dry glare Clint leveled at him was forever immortalized in the next picture.

Thor, seeming to recover from his shock, grinned widely at them.

"My friends! Dinner is freshly prepared! Please, take your seats at the table and allow us to serve you."

"Are you serving it or wearing it?" Tony teased, though he headed to the table without further prompting.

" _You'll_  be wearing it if you don't sit down and shut up," Clint shot back.

"No food fights," Pepper scolded.

"Is something burning?" Bruce asked as he edged towards the sink, only to be nudged away by a sheepish looking Thor.

Natasha narrowed her eyes and moved to Clint's side, grinning as she watched him scrape away some of the potatoes on his face.

"Interesting afternoon?" she asked lightly.

"Oh, you could say that." Clint chuckled. "There will be a few less potatoes than we were hoping for, but otherwise it should all be edible."

"And everyone is unscathed?" she tossed a glance at the charred towel in the sink.

"More or less." Clint shrugged.

"You go sit as well, Archer, I will bring the food." Thor commanded with a stern look. "This was my undertaking and I intend to see it through."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Clint moved with Natasha to the table and sat.

A moment later Thor grandly placed the plate of chicken and bowl of potatoes on the table.

"I present chicken of the fryer and potatoes of mash. Enjoy, my friends."

Tony picked up a piece of chicken, eyeing it critically.

"You did this all on your own, Shakespeare?"

Thor shot a look at Clint, who gave him a single, encouraging nod.

"Under the guidance of our noble archer, yes, I have prepared this meal and tomorrow will prepare it for Jane to celebrate the day of your sai-"

"Saint Valentine." Bruce, Tony, and Pepper all chorused at once, making Natasha wonder how many conversations Thor had instigated concerning Valentine's Day before ending up asking Clint for help.

"Well…" Tony cleared his throat and eyed the chicken warily, "you only live once I suppose…"

And he took a bite.

"Good." He took another, larger bite, speaking around the mouthful of food, "very good."

It seemed to be the cue everyone was waiting on because they all started digging in.

* * *

Thor tied back his drying hair as he made his way into the kitchen, freshly showered and finally clean of all remnants of food. He paused in the doorway, hearing voices. A smile came to his face as he recognized them.

"You don't have to help with this," Clint insisted quietly.

"You don't have to do it in the first place," Natasha replied in the same soft tone.

There was the sound of running water and the clink of dishes tapping against each other. Carefully, Thor eased around the doorway, confirming what he'd heard.

Clint and Natasha stood side by side at the sink, dishwasher open next to Natasha. Clint rinsed a plate and handed it to her, and she placed it in the washer. And the process started again.

"Well, Thor needed a shower so he can head out. Pepper has an early meeting, Bruce managed to vanish right around clean-up time and have you ever seen Tony even _touch_  the dishwasher?"

Natasha laughed lightly.

"You could use a shower too, you know."

Without warning, she reached and splashed her hand through the stream running from the faucet, sending water sloshing over Clint's shirt.

She bit her lip to contain her laughter while Clint just slowly shook his head. Then he was suddenly in motion, grabbing the sprayer and pointing it at her. A second later she was shrieking as she was drenched.

Thor barely held back his own chuckle as he watched them battle over the sprayer, dishes forgotten. How Natasha ended up with it, he wasn't quite certain. She wiped her fingers gently over Clint's face, clearing the water from his eyes.

"There…all clean." She seemed to be trying to get control of her laughter now.

"Thanks," Clint replied dryly.

"Just trying to help." She grinned in a manner that Thor understood all too well. Jane often grinned at him the same way.

"Help, huh?" Clint advanced slowly, backing her against the counter.

She nodded, sprayer sitting forgotten on the edge of the sink.

"Guess I should thank you then?"

With a move so fast, Thor nearly missed it, Clint's hand shot out and grabbed the sprayer, releasing a stream of water up the back of Natasha's shirt.

She shouted in surprised laughter, but was silenced by Clint covering her mouth with his, sprayer hanging down to the floor abandoned.

Thor backed away, leaving them in privacy.

He headed back to his room, gathered his bag and retrieved his hammer. He was even more eager now, to get to Jane. To proclaim his love in whatever way he could. He hoped, one day, that he could find such joy doing menial tasks as the dishes with his Jane.

He hoped one day what they felt for each other would also go beyond such simple language as 'love.' That it would reach the point where it – like that which existed between the archer and the widow – would not be so easily defined.

* * *

_End of Not So Easily Defined_

_So? Did you like it? It was fun to write. I always enjoy writing Thor and I imagine the Asgardian prince hasn't often prepared his own meals..._

_Drop me a line to let me know what you thought!_

_Later, dudes! (I just let my inner ninja turtle geek show...)_


	2. Steve

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace_ **_constructive_ ** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

_Copyright Notice: Please do not copy or repost my work without my express permission. I have recently discovered an issue with plagiarism, in that another person had copy/pasted my work and was claiming it as their own on another site. I've dealt with the situation, but I plead with readers to keep an eye out on other sites. If you see something of mine on another site other than the following, it is NOT me. Please inform me immediately! I am published on **FFN** and _ _**AO3** _ _under the name_ _**Aggie2011** _ _and_ _**tumblr** _ _under the name_ _**aggie2011whoop** _ _. Thanks for looking out y'all!_

* * *

_Ha! Fooled you! Not a one-shot! Now a TWO-shot and soon to be a three, four, then five shot! Surprise!_

_Somebody commented on the Thor part of this that they were wondering where Steve was at the dinner they all had at the end. *chuckles bashfully* Here is the explanation of his absence. When I got inspired to write this, I also got inspired to do a Bruce centered chapter, a Tony centered chapter, and finally a Clintasha chapter. So those are all in the works._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_I literally am in the home-stretch of "Untold Stories" I got a wicked case of writer's block and have finally, FINALLY gotten past it. I hope to have it ready by the end of the month!_

_If you haven't already, go check out the VPU webpage on tumblr under the username_ **aggie2011whoop** _! Lots of fun goodies there if you want some more VPU awesomeness and a healthy dose of Clintasha :D_

_As always, thanks to my beta-readers_ **Kylen** _and_ **JRBarton**

* * *

_Sometimes love means letting go when you want to hold on tighter._ **  
Melissa Marr**

* * *

_February 14, 2013  
12:37 a.m._

* * *

Steve angled his motorcycle into the Stark Tower garage, slowly accelerating over to his parking spot. Once there, he killed the engine and toed down the kickstand, letting the bike ease sideways until the stand supported it.

With a sigh, he swung his leg over the bike and pocketed his keys. He jumped when a loud clang rang out across the garage.

"Son of a  _bitch!_ "

Steve arched an eyebrow. He knew that voice. He wished it was  _odd_  for Clint to be up at all hours, but it wasn't. It was something of a normal occurrence to find the archer passing the wee hours of the night in the range, the gym, on the roof, or here in the garage. Sometimes Natasha would be with him, sometimes not. Steve often wondered how either of them functioned with such sporadic sleeping patterns.

He headed towards the source of the sound, rounding one of Tony's very expensive cars – an Aston Martin – to find Clint sitting on the ground next to a black Ducati motorcycle. The archer made a fairly typical sight – clad in black sweat pants, no shoes, and a worn gray t-shirt with 'Barton' emblazoned across the shoulders. Barton couldn't often be bothered to dress much past athletic wear when he was in the tower. More intriguing than his clothes, though, were the muttered curses he was mumbling under his breath and the glare he was leveling at the blood blossoming on his knuckles as he shook out his left hand.

"You all right?" Steve asked as he leaned back against the Aston Martin and slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Clint didn't turn to look at him. He didn't seem surprised or startled by Steve's presence at all. Though, Steve supposed Clint had heard him arrive. His classic motorcycle wasn't quiet and its sound was definitely unique. So Steve was practically expecting it when Clint spoke as he'd known Steve was standing behind him all along.

"Annoyed more than anything." The flippant response was typical. Steve had come to learn that Clint could have an entire limb missing and would still claim he was fit for battle. It had saved the team more than once, that resilience. They'd all learned quickly that Natasha was the only one allowed to question him on it.

So Steve just nodded his acceptance and silently watched Clint drag the back of his hand across his pants, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. Then he picked up a wrench that seemed to have been discarded to the floor, and resumed his tinkering.

Steve watched him quietly for a moment. Clint kept working, pretending he didn't notice.

Steve finally sighed and pushed off the car. He almost turned to leave, even opened his mouth to say good night. But then paused, suddenly not so keen to return to his lonely room in the tower.

Clint seemed to sense his sudden hesitation, because he shot him a curious glance over his shoulder. It gave Steve a nice view of a grease smear across the archer's forehead. When Steve grinned, Clint's eyebrow arched. Rather than admit he'd been smiling at the archer's expense, Steve wandered closer, eyes going to inspect the motorcycle Clint was working on.

"What are you still doing up?"

Clint watched him suspiciously for a moment longer and then resumed his mechanics.

"Nat said she heard a rattle last time she took her bike out and she wants to go out for a ride tomorrow…" Clint shook his head. " _Today_ …whatever. Anyway, figured I should check it out."

Steve nodded, eyes scanning the small, sleek Ducati and then straying to take in the bulkier – though still impressively sleek – model parked a few feet away. Clint's.

A motorcycle ride on Valentine's Day…why didn't that surprise him?

"What about you?" Clint's voice drew his attention back. The assassin was watching him curiously. "What's got you out so late?"

He sounded honestly curious but Steve wasn't sure he wanted to talk about where he'd been, who he'd been with. "Why?" he asked instead. "Did I miss something good?"

Clint grinned.

"Thor cooked."

Steve laughed, momentarily forgetting his somber mood.

"You're kidding?" he scoffed.

Clint shook his head and huffed a chuckle.

"Technically, I helped him, but he did the heavy lifting. Kitchen was a mess, you should have seen it."

Steve was still chuckling as he moved around Natasha's bike, tracing his fingers along the handlebars. It was funny how different this motorcycle was from his own, and yet…so much was the same.

"Was it edible?" he asked as he moved his gaze back to the archer.

Clint was battling with a particularly stubborn part of the bike's engine, which added a little bit of a grunt to his response.

"More than…saved you some leftovers if you're hungry."

Steve smiled at the thoughtfulness.

"I am, actually."

Clint nodded.

"I'm almost done here, I'll heat it up for you."

Steve's smile turned a little chagrined.

"Still don't trust me with the microwave, huh?"

Clint was the one that laughed now.

"That tin foil take-out swan will never be the same."

Steve couldn't help but chuckle at his own technological ignorance. No one had told him about tin-foil and microwaves and their lack of compatibility.

Now he knew…at the expense of some chicken parmesan that would have been delicious, a fancy piece of tinfoil shaped into a swan, and a microwave that had needed prompt replacement.

He turned to study Clint's Ducati, running his hand over the handle bars idly. He sensed Clint's curious and vaguely concerned gaze on his back for a moment before it dropped away, presumably turning back to his work.

"I went to see Peggy…and after just…drove." Steve turned again to face Clint.

He wasn't sure what prompted the confession – but of everyone in the tower, Clint was the easiest for him to talk to. They'd bonded, months ago now, over shared loss. Clint had confided in him about the loss of Phil Coulson and Steve had, in turn, told Clint about Bucky. They'd walked similar paths in their lifetimes, he and Clint, just in different decades.

It helped that the archer was often quiet and contemplative – except when he got around Tony, then the two of them regressed to a couple of loud, sarcastic teenagers – and offered a friendly ear when it was needed. Sometimes he talked back, sometimes he just listened, it just depended on if he had something he deemed worth saying.

He saw Clint's hands pause and his gaze rose to meet Steve's briefly before dropping back down to focus on the bike. The assassin started working with the engine again and his voice was casual as he replied to the abrupt statement.

"Day  _before_  Valentine's? Interesting tactic."

Steve shrugged slightly.

"It wasn't a tactic…I just…" Steve sighed. "I wanted to see her. Not so long ago for  _me_ , I would have been celebrating Valentine's Day  _with_  her."

Clint's eyebrow quirked slightly.

" _Was_  so long ago for  _her._ "

There was no recrimination in the assassin's tone, not accusation or judgement. But Steve still felt a bit of a sting at the reminder.

"I know. That's why I went today…tomorrow belongs to her husband, I know that."

Clint tilted his head in acknowledgement and he paused his work again, fixing his gaze on Steve's.

"You're a better guy than most, you know that, right?"

Steve smiled slightly. That knowledge didn't make him feel any better at the moment.

"Feeling complimentary?"

Clint scoffed and Steve smiled wider. Clint wasn't one to pay compliments just for the sake of it.

"I just call shit like I see it, Cap." Clint went back to the bike.

Well that was certainly true. Clint could always be counted on to call a spade a spade. Steve fell silent, watching Clint work for a few moments.

Tonight hadn't been the first time he'd gone to see Peggy since he'd thawed out, he tried to go as often as he could manage without intruding. Seeing her that first time, realizing that her once sharp mind was betraying her, had been  _hard_ , but he'd gone back anyway. This  _had_  been the first time he'd gone so near a day of romantic significance, though. Part of him still longed for the past, for a time when  _he'd_  have been the one showing up at her door to take her out on Valentine's Day.

Most days, when he woke up, it still took him a few minutes to remember this  _wasn't_ the 1940s – to remember that everything from his world was gone, that he lived in a new world now.

His eyes drifted to his bike across the garage, his thoughts settling on Peggy once again.  _Almost_ everything was gone. Those few things that weren't, though, wouldn't last forever. He wanted to hold onto them while he still could. He wanted to hold onto her.

Maybe it wasn't fair to her, though, to keep showing up, to keep reminding of the life together they'd been robbed of.

But that was love, wasn't it? It was never ending? It endured, no matter what? Was it so wrong for him to still love her after a lifetime had passed for her? It still felt like just yesterday for him.

"Do you think love transcends time?"

The abrupt question had Clint stopping his work again, eyes flying up to Steve's in honest surprise. Then he shifted, resting his forearms on the bike and raising his head so he could give Steve his full attention.

"I think what matters more is, do  _you_?"

Steve chewed his lower lip for a moment, thinking about his reply.

"I think real love would …  _should_. If it's real, timelines shouldn't matter, should they?"

Clint just stared at him.

"Is that what  _you_  think?" he finally countered.

Steve huffed, giving the archer a pointed look. Sometimes having a conversation with Clint Barton was like riding a merry-go-round – you went round and round without ever going  _anywhere_.

"I'm asking what  _you_ think," Steve reminded.

Clint drew in a long, slow breath, eyes narrowing, hands playing idly with the wrench he still held.

"Steve…" he started slowly after a moment, "I don't know what you want me to tell you."

Steve sighed and leaned back against Clint's motorcycle, meeting Clint's intense, penetrating gaze.

"I want you to tell me what  _you_  believe." He needed another perspective and he knew, without a doubt, that Clint would give an honest one. If he could ever get the archer to actually  _give_  it, that is.

Clint fiddled with the wrench, his eyes seeming to do their level best to see right into Steve's soul.

"I don't know much about love," he finally said, only to quirk his lips in a slight smile, "at least not in the  _traditional_ sense."

"That's baloney."

Clint snorted and Steve felt his cheeks redden. Clint dropped his head, shaking it slightly before looking up at Steve with disbelief.

"Baloney? Really? You're calling  _baloney_  on me?"

Steve shook his own head, chuckling slightly. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten teased for innocent tongue, and probably wouldn't be the last. He sighed and decided to own it.

"Yes, I'm calling baloney on you. You don't know about love? What about Natasha?"

Clint's reply was instantaneous.

"Love is-"

"For children," Steve interrupted. "I've heard." He fixed Clint with his own version of a penetrating look. "Seems to be a favorite phrase with you two…or a favorite excuse."

Clint scowled.

"It's not an excuse."

"Then what is it? What does it even mean?"

Clint sighed and waved his hands helplessly.

"It mean exactly what it sounds like it means," he tried.

Steve just stared at him and waited. It took several long, silent moments, but eventually Clint sighed again and scrubbed a hand through his hair. When he finally spoke, he kept his gaze pinned on the tool in his hands.

"There was someone else," he flicked a look up at Steve through his lashes, "before me."

Steve understood immediately.

"For Natasha." He stated, to show that he'd put it together.

Clint nodded.

"It really isn't all that surprising because," Clint smiled, his eyes lighting up a little, "I mean  _look_ at her." If that look in his eyes wasn't love, Steve didn't know what  _was._ But then the smile faded. "But a little over a year ago, about 4 months before Loki, he came back into the picture." Clint's hand tightened around the wrench as he spoke as if subconsciously preparing to use it as a weapon, but Steve didn't think he realized he was doing it. "Meeting him, and everything that happened after, it taught me a little something about  _love_."

Steve swallowed, hearing echoes of pain, hurt and anger that even Clint, master of hidden emotions, couldn't quite keep from showing.

"What did it teach you?" he asked quietly.

Clint met his gaze squarely, his eyes sincere.

"That love is a term people use when they want to define how they feel about someone. But me, I'm okay with what I feel about Natasha  _never_  being defined if it means it's nowhere close to what  _he_  felt for her. Because I have absolutely no doubt that  _he loved her_ and that once upon a time she loved him.

"But love can be  _wrong_  and it  _was_  wrong with him. But she was a kid, she didn't know any better." Clint smiled slightly now, a real, genuine smile. "Now she does." And Steve knew without a doubt that  _Clint_  had been the one to teach her the difference.

Steve chewed the inside of his lip, his mind getting stuck on one thing Clint had said.

"You think my loving Peggy is wrong?"

Clint's gaze softened and he sighed.

"No, not exactly. She was it for you before you went all capsicle. There's nothing wrong with that. But that was  _then,_ Steve. She's not the same person she was back then, not really. And you, you're not exactly the same anymore either, are you?"

Steve thought about all that had happened since he woke up. He'd been forced to adapt to a new world, a new way of doing things. Not all of the changes were for the better. Few of them were actually. But he hadn't had a choice.

Steve let out a slight sigh.

"I guess I'm not."

Clint nodded like he'd known that would be Steve's answer.

"Loving her back then, it wasn't wrong. Loving her  _now_ isn't wrong. It's not about whether you should or shouldn't love her, that's not really something you can help. It's about  _how_  you love her. Loving someone the wrong way – like Alexi did Natasha – it can do a hell of a lot of harm and can cause a hell of a lot of pain."

"You think she's getting hurt by this?"

Clint's gaze met his squarely.

"No, I don't think  _she_  is."

Steve drew back slightly, realization dawning. Oh.

Clint blew out a breath.

"Look, man, I get it. 70 years ago, she was it. What you had with her, it was the real deal. But you're not there anymore. You can't keep living your life like you expect to wake up in 1945 again. You can't live in the past."

Steve quirked his eyebrow, defensiveness rising. The past was still all he really knew. He was learning this new world, but he wasn't an expert yet. He still missed his old life. He missed everything that came before. Hearing Clint bluntly tell him to let it go wasn't easy to take.

"That's almost funny, coming from you."

The low-blow comment was out before he could stop it. He hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to lash out defensively. But his defenses were already a little weak from visiting Peggy and the retort slipped out against his will.

He almost didn't see the flinch the words caused, it was so subtle, but it was there. It made his stomach knot to see it, to know he'd caused it.

Almost in the same moment, though, Clint was smirking, a familiar mask sliding into place.

"I'm sorry," Steve stated quickly, sincerely, wanting to undo the damage. "That was uncalled for."

"Hey," Clint waved away the apology, defenses now firmly in place, "I never said I was good at following my own advice. And yeah, I think about Loki and…" The mask slipped briefly, giving way to the ocean of devastation that still haunted the archer whenever Phil Coulson was mentioned. But then he cleared his throat and forced his expression to smooth again, "everything that happened more than I probably should. I can't let it go, no matter how hard I try. But I'm moving forward – or trying to, anyway." Clint fixed him with that intense, weighted look again. "Are  _you_?" he issued the challenge firmly and then fell silent, waiting for a response.

Steve stared at him.

Was he? Moving forward? Was he even trying?

He'd gone to see Peggy the exact same day he'd found out she was still alive. He'd been going back ever since.

"But what if she was  _it_? How do I move forward from that?"

Clint regarded him seriously for a long moment, seeming to mentally craft his reply with great care.

"Someone told me not so long ago," Clint's lips quirked as if he were amused by some joke Steve wasn't privy to, "that we all love in different ways. If we're lucky, we find someone who understands how we love and finds a way to give back that love in a way that  _we_ understand."

Steve couldn't help but think that described Clint and Natasha perfectly. Those two understood each other in a way nobody else could ever come close to – in a way he'd never had the chance to understand Peggy.

And maybe that was Clint's point.

"I don't think Peggy's that person for you, Cap." Clint confirmed his suspicion. "Maybe just because she never got a chance to be, but either way, it's not her. It can't be."

"You think I didn't really love her? Or don't now?" Steve asked softly.

"Actually, I absolutely believe you did and  _do_. But in case you haven't been paying attention, love isn't really the point. Love is just a word. Using it doesn't grant special powers to your relationship. What matters is _you_  and  _her_  and whether or not what you feel for each other can work." Clint fixed him with a penetrating look. "Can it?"

Steve considered the challenging question for a long moment, though he already knew, deep down, what the answer was.

"No," he admitted quietly. Because it wasn't 1945. They weren't going to get their dance. She'd moved on, she'd found a way to love someone else. It  _wasn't_  fair of him to expect anything else from her.

"Well, there you go." Clint didn't sound triumphant, his voice, instead, held nothing but warmth and sympathy.

"So what?" Steve shrugged helplessly. "I just stop loving her? How?" That seemed impossible and he didn't  _want_  to stop loving her.

"No, you don't just stop loving her. You find a way to love her  _differently_  – in a way that's good for  _both_  of you."

Steve wasn't sure what that looked like. But maybe…maybe it was time to try and figure it out.

"You can love someone without being  _in_  love with them, Steve. She's not just gonna stop being important to you and that's okay…but she found a way to love someone else. You can too."

"How?" Steve asked seriously. He didn't even know how to start.

"Maybe by being open to taking another swing instead of looking over your shoulder for the pitch that's already gone by."

Steve smiled and huffed a chuckle.

"I actually understand that analogy."

Clint smiled.

"Baseball, it's timeless."

Steve chuckled again, nodding in agreement.

"Take another swing, huh?"

Clint quirked his lips.

"Look for the next pitch at least."

Steve sighed. Clint made it sound so easy.

"You and Natasha," he asked after a moment, "were you two always… _you two_?"

Clint laughed out right.

"Uh…no." He was smiling widely now. "The first time I met Natasha she  _shot_  me. Two weeks later she shot me  _again_."

Steve blinked in shock.

"Really?"

Clint nodded, still smiling. Steve didn't get it. Last he checked, getting shot  _twice_  wasn't something to smile about.

"When we were eventually partnered, things were rocky at first. We were both solo operatives having to learn to be on a team. Our first mission was… _interesting._ "

Steve tilted his head, intrigued.

"What changed?"

Clint had gone back to working on the bike and kept his gaze hidden for several long moments, making Steve wonder if he would answer. Almost abruptly, Clint suddenly blew out a slow breath and looked up to meet his gaze again.

"Everything changed…and nothing. I was always drawn to her, but the longer we were partnered…I don't know…I just…couldn't look away, you know?"

Steve couldn't help but smile slightly. Clint could call it whatever he wanted – or  _not_  call it as the case may be – but Steve knew love when he saw it.

"I know," he replied quietly. He knew all too well.

Clint gave him a sympathetic glance. Steve sighed and forced himself to move forward.

"So what do you suggest? I wasn't exactly good at meeting women back in  _my_  day, much less  _now_. I wouldn't know the first thing about where to even start looking."

Clint chuckled and stood, wiping his hands on his shorts.

"Hell if I know, Cap. I met Tash because she was my mission. I wouldn't know the first thing about 'dating.'"

"Great," Steve chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest, "so between the two of us, we've got a 95 year old who sets microwaves on fire and an assassin who ended up falling for his target."

Clint just grinned and shrugged.

"You never dated anyone before Natasha?"

For some reason Steve found that hard to believe.

Clint shifted his hand from the key he'd just inserted to the ignition. He slid a hesitant look at Steve.

"Not exactly."

Then he pressed the starter, bringing the engine to life. Steve was forced to wait while Clint revved the bike, listening to the engine. A few moments later he turned the bike off and Steve spoke in almost the same moment.

"Not exactly? What does that even mean?"

Clint shrugged, leaning down to toss his tools back in the toolbox.

"It means I was never a 'relationship' guy before Nat."

Steve tilted his head curiously, watching Clint pick up the packed tool box and reach to retrieve the key.

"But there  _was_  someone, wasn't there." He realized. "Was it serious?"

Clint headed for the storage area, Steve followed him.

"No, wasn't serious, wasn't even close to serious." Clint put his toolbox on a shelf and turned to lean back against the workbench.

Steve studied him closely.

"So just one person but it wasn't serious and wasn't a relationship…" he frowned in confusion. "Then what did you…" Clint smirked. "Oh.  _OH_. I see." Steve felt his face redden.

Clint was holding back a grin now.

"How long did you…" Steve cleared his throat, " _know_  her?"

Clint looked up at the ceiling, absently scratching at a scar on the underside of his jaw, as if he were drawing on a distant memory.

"About three years…a little more, I guess."

"Three years?" Steve scoffed. "And that doesn't qualify as a relationship?"

Clint shrugged.

"It was more of a booty call situation. But we weren't talking about me, we were talking about  _you_."

Steve grimaced.

"Any suggestions?"

Clint shrugged.

"Just…leave the option open. See what happens. If you get desperate, there's always online dating."

Steve didn't even know what that was, or how one could 'date online'. His brow furrowed in confusion only to smooth in realization when he saw Clint's smirk.

"Very funny."

Clint laughed and pushed off the work bench.

"Seriously though, you might be surprised what opportunities will turn up if you're open to it."

Steve nodded and met Clint's gaze seriously.

"Thanks."

Clint reached to clap him on the shoulder.

"Tell anyone about this heart to heart and we're gonna have issues, we clear?"

Steve smirked.

"You mean don't tell Tony."

"I mean it, Steve. I'd never hear the end of it. He's already been calling me Cupid for days."

Steve nodded and put his hands up in surrender.

"Not a word," he promised.

Clint mock glared at him for a long moment before breaking into an easy grin and slapping Steve's shoulder once again.

"Good. Now how about those leftovers?"

Clint started towards the door. Steve grinned and followed.

* * *

_February 14, 2013  
5:23 a.m._

* * *

Steve looked up from his plate of fruit when Natasha walked silently into the kitchen. Her fiery red hair was knotted in a high messy bun and she wore a black tank top and baggy sweatpants that bore the SHIELD insignia on the hip.

She angled straight for the coffee maker.

"Morning," Steve greeted.

She tossed him a smile of greeting over her shoulder as she went about brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

"Clint still asleep?" he asked.

She shook her head even as she turned to lean back against the counter and face him.

"He went for a run in the park."

"You didn't go with?"

She yawned and shook her head.

"He was already gone when I woke up, left a note."

Steve nodded, looking down at his fruit again.

He felt Natasha's gaze on him and after a moment looked up to meet it. She was watching him with an odd look, something like curiosity and sympathy all rolled into one.

"Clint told you," he deduced.

She nodded.

"I woke up when he came back to bed, he filled me in."

"I guess the not telling anyone only applied to me."

Natasha grinned.

"It really only applied to Tony," she said with a smirk.

Steve grinned.

"So what's your opinion?" he asked curiously.

"Same as Clint's."

Steve nodded, he'd figured as much.

"But…"

His gaze shot up to hers, surprised that she'd continued.

"But what?" he asked.

"But unless you want a bunch of crazy, obsessed fan-girls hounding you, I wouldn't go the 'just be open to possibilities' route."

Steve scowled a little. She had a point. It was impossible to leave the tower these days without fans and press hounding them. He felt like his picture was in the paper every other day. Same with Tony and Bruce. Somehow, Natasha and Clint always came and went without detection. Nobody was sure how they did it.

"What would you suggest?"

"Have someone you trust set you up."

"Set me up? Like a blind date?"

"Exactly like that."

Steve eyed her curiously.

"You got someone in mind?"

She moved forward to the island where he sat, bracing her forearms on the counter as she leaned over.

"Maybe. Clint told me he told you about Elena."

Steve frowned. Elena?

"His ex booty-call," Natasha clarified.

"Ah, yes. He did."

"She works in Paris, personal assistant to a man named Henri Moreau. He's on the UN Security Council."

Steve wondered where she was going with this.

"Have you met her?"

Natasha shook her head.

"Not personally. Clint told me about her a long time ago, though." A slightly devious grin quirked her lips. "I looked into her."

Steve sat back on his stool, regarding her curiously. He'd never seen that look in her eye before.

"You were jealous," he realized.

Natasha shrugged dismissively.

"He was hooking up with her for three years, I was curious."

"And what did you find?" he asked.

"I found out that she likes cats, can make a mean cocktail, made top marks in college, and was a good enough person for Clint to personally recommend her to Moreau when he was looking to hire."

Steve stared at her, absently pushing around the fruit on his plate with his fork.

"Why are you telling me this, Natasha?"

"Because there are a lot of people out there not worth your time. Maybe you'd be better of starting with someone you know is genuine."

Steve huffed in surprise.

"You want to set me up with the girl Clint used to…" he cleared his throat and felt his cheeks redden. "You know…" He gestured vaguely with his hand.

Natasha grinned, at his expense no doubt, but then sobered.

"I want to set you up with someone that was worthy of keeping his attention for three years. You know as well as I do how perceptive he is. He wouldn't have wasted his time if she wasn't worth it."

"Don't you think it would be weird?"

"If Clint cares, he's gonna find himself having bigger issues to worry about," she replied with a wicked little smirk that made Steve compulsively swallow. "The question is do  _you_  care?"

"Would  _she_?" Steve asked instead of answering. "It would be weird for her too, wouldn't it?"

"Steve," the look Natasha gave him was patronizing at best, "you're Captain America…I don't think she'll mind."

Steve felt his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment. He'd never get used to how the changes the serum had brought had so dramatically altered people's perceptions of him – especially women.

"You've never even met her. How would you even set us up? And didn't you say she lived in Paris? Kind of a long commute for a date, don't you think?"

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Clint will play middle man and nobody said you had to jump into 'dating' right away. Video chat with her, get to know her…try the whole friends thing and just see what happens. Maybe something comes of it, maybe nothing does. The point is that you're putting yourself out there."

Steve nodded slowly.

"What makes you sure she'd be a good place to start?"

Natasha met his gaze seriously.

"Three years, Steve…he came back to her for  _three_  years."

That, Steve supposed, was answer enough.

"Okay," he nodded again, "I'm in."

It was time to move forward. And for the first time since he'd woken in a new world, he found that prospect surprisingly exciting.

* * *

End of Not So Easily Defined - Steve

_Well? Explanation enough? He was with Peggy! Of COURSE he was! :D Tony's chapter is coming up next! What hi-jinx will HE be up to on this wonderful Valentine's Day? We shall see! Until then, drop me a line! You all know how much I adore reviews! And go check out the Vantage Point Universe tumblr page!_


	3. Tony

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace_ **_constructive_ ** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

_So since it's Valentine's Day, I figured this was fitting! lol it's short...I don't know why it ended up short, but it did lol. Hope you don't mind :)_

_This was beta'd by the wonderful_ **Kylen** _and my usual second beta is busy going through Untold Stories, so I didn't bother her with it :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Small gestures can have big impact.  
_ **Julianna Margulies**

* * *

_February 14, 2013  
11:15 am_

* * *

Clint leaned hard to his left, narrowly avoiding the legs scissoring towards his neck. He spun away even as Natasha recovered from the failed move. They circled for a brief breath, both grinning.

"You tired?" Natasha teased.

"Just getting warmed up," Clint shot back with a smirk. He knew he was betrayed by the sharp breaths he was working to getting back under control. Even _years_ into their partnership, Natasha could still give him a _hell_ of a workout. He took some satisfaction in seeing the sweat dripping down her face and the quick breaths _she_ was forcing to even out.

She cocked a challenging eyebrow at him and then she was coming at him again. He dodged a jab, knowingly leaving himself open for her to plant a foot on his thigh and swing her body up to wrap her thighs around his neck.

It was a familiar move, one that she could kill with if she chose to. With him, she'd just use it to take him hard to the mat and get him pinned. He only had a fraction of a second to react and counter.

When she threw her weight back and down, twisting her body to try and twist him to the ground, he torqued his body to follow. She'd been expecting resistance. The added force of his body twisting in time with hers, had her over-rotating.

She landed hard on her chest, arms barely keeping her face from slamming into the mat. Her legs loosened enough for him to push free and roll away.

They came up at the same time, both in a predatory crouch, eyes colliding across the mat.

Just as they prepared to come at each other, the gym door opened.

It wasn't unusual for one of the others to come looking for them here, or to come work out at the same time, so they almost didn't bother looking to see who it was.

But a glimpse of neatly combed blonde hair and a smart business pants suit, had them both pausing.

Pepper slid into the gym, carefully closing the door behind her. She looked one way, then the other, and seemingly satisfied that she was alone with them, she made her way stealthily towards them.

Clint cocked his head and furrowed his brow, leaning closer to Nat so she would hear him.

"Is she _tip-toeing_?" he asked in a low whisper.

Natasha grinned and moved to the edge of the mat to meet the other woman. Clint hesitated, not entirely sure he wanted to be part of…whatever this was. But Pepper motioned him over as well.

"What's up?" Natasha asked with a friendly smile.

Pepper leaned closer.

"I need your help with something," she whispered in a conspiring tone.

Clint exchanged an amused glance with Natasha.

"Why are you whispering?" he asked at a normal volume.

"SHHHHH!" she scolded, looking around. "He could be listening," she insisted, voice quiet.

Clint looked around too, wondering if maybe she'd suffered a head injury.

"Who?" he asked doubtfully.

"Tony!" she revealed. "Who else? Jarvis has this whole place wired!"

"What does it-" he started, only to get slapped hard in his arm by Natasha, "ow!"

She gave him a sharp look and mouthed 'whisper'.

He rolled his eyes, but at the two scolding looks he got from both women, he sighed.

"Fine," he whispered. "Now why the hell are we whispering?"

"So Tony doesn't overhear," Natasha reminded with an impatient glare in his direction.

Clint barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. Instead, he looked expectantly to Pepper.

"I know you two probably have your own plans. I mean it's Valentine's Day and you two are together. So I'm sure you don't have time, but if you do, then I could really use your help. But I totally understand if you can't. Because I know it's Valentine's Day and-"

Natasha spoke up, interrupting Pepper's nervous ramble.

"What do you need?" she asked quietly.

Pepper, looking relieved, explained.

"I found one of Tony's mother's paintings. A collector in Paris had it and I was able to convince him to sell. Well he shipped it to me, but the delivery company screwed up and delivered it to the gallery Tony and I lend to uptown. I was going to get it myself, but I've got back to back conference calls all morning and a board meeting this afternoon. I need you to go get it and get it back here without him knowing."

Natasha was already nodding, a strategic look in her eyes. But Clint was just blinking.

"Tony's mom was a painter?" he asked in surprise.

He immediately received two glares for not keeping his voice down.

"Sorry," he apologized in a whisper. "Tony's mom was a painter?" he asked again.

Natasha gave him a doubtful look.

"I thought he was your _bff_ these days." She tossed him a sarcastic smirk with the "bff" part that had him rolling his eyes even as she went on, "How did you not know that? _I_ knew that."

Clint shot her a defensive glare.

"Hey, it's not like we sit around drinking wine, braiding hair, and exchanging life stories. And _you_ worked a cover on him, _of course_ you knew."

Natasha rolled her eyes and looked back at Pepper.

"We'll take care of it," she promised.

"Thank you," Pepper squeezed Natasha's hand and then gave Clint a grateful smile. Then she was gone, sneaking back across the gym and out the door.

"I'll get the painting," Natasha volunteered.

"Why you?" Clint asked with a suspicious arch to his eyebrow.

"Because one of us is going to have to keep Tony occupied and you're less likely to shed blood before the day is out."

Clint inclined his head in acceptance.

"That's fair, I guess."

Natasha sarcastically hummed her agreement and then pushed onto her toes to give him a quick kiss.

"I'll see you later, okay? I'm gonna get a shower and get going. Traffic's always a bitch uptown."

Clint nodded and watched her jog to the door.

He absently moved to the punching bag and tapped his fist against it, trying to figure out the best way to keep Tony occupied.

"Jarvis?" he called into the empty room.

" _Yes, Agent Barton?"_

"Where's Tony?"

" _Mr. Stark is currently in his lab,"_ Jarvis told him immediately.

"Connect me, would you?"

" _Right away, sir._ "

A moment later he heard Tony's voice over the intercom.

" _What's up, feathers?"_

"You busy?"

There was a pause then Tony replied cautiously.

" _What am I getting myself into if I say no?"_

"Sparring. I could use a cool down after training with Tash."

Tony scoffed.

" _I should be insulted by that. But as it happens, I need your advice anyway. I'm on my way."_

Clint scowled slightly. What was it with people and asking his advice these days?

He kept his muscles warm by working the punching bag while he waited. A few minutes later Tony came into the gym in workout gear.

"How hard do you think it would be to book the New York Symphony Orchestra with only a few hours' notice?" Tony asked without preamble.

Clint stared at him in surprise, barely getting his hand up to catch the bag before it swung back and hit him. Before he could even begin to construct an answer, Tony was shaking his head and starting to stretch.

"Never mind, I think they have a benefit concert tonight."

Tony slid his hands into sparring gloves and tossed a set to Clint.

"Why do you need an entire orchestra?" he asked as he strapped his gloves on. He met Tony at the center of the mat and tapped gloves with him.

Tony tossed him a look like he was dense.

"It's Valentine's Day."

Clint threw a few slow punches out, giving Tony a chance to dodge and warm himself up.

"Yeah…and how does that equate to an orchestra?" he asked.

Tony continued to dodge his strikes even as Clint sped them up.

"I want to do something special for Pepper. She loves this type of stuff."

Clint motioned Tony to start taking swings at him.

"What type of stuff is that?"

"Valentine's Day," Tony explained. "Cupid and hearts and roses and all that."

Clint dodged a few of Tony's strikes, but made sure to block the rest so he would get a feel for landing the hits.

"Problem is," Tony started speeding up his attack, "every time I try to do that type of stuff, I screw it up. Like her birthday…and that thing with the fish. Or last year with the theme park fiasco."

Clint grinned at his friend's expense.

"I could have told you the Tilt-a-Whirl after eating Italian was a bad idea."

Tony grimaced.

"It wouldn't have been so bad if I'd made it to a trash can…she took like five showers and still said she could smell it."

Clint felt his own face twist into a grimace. Poor Pepper.

"Anyway," Tony sighed, "I want to actually do it right this year. Prove to her that I _can_."

Clint thought for a moment as he and Tony continued to spar.

"You know her better than anyone, Tony," he pointed out. "What does _she_ like?"

Tony started spouting off answers immediately.

"Italian food – specifically _your_ spaghetti. Violins. The stars – the _actual_ stars, not celebrities. She's a big kid when it comes to fireworks…" Tony trailed off.

Clint dropped his hands to pause their sparring and met Tony's gaze.

"And _you,_ " he pointed out. "She loves _you_. So put all that together and what do you get? You want to make tonight special for her? Make it about _her_."

Tony propped his hands on his hips as he thought.

"So the whole 'go big, or go home' thing?" he asked curiously.

Clint laughed.

"Where has _that_ gotten you so far? Put all Pepper's favorite things together and what do you get?" he asked again.

"Me, food, music, fireworks and the open night sky."

Clint nodded and just continued to stare at him, waiting for him to put it together.

"Dinner on the roof, just us?" Tony suggested. "String quartet," he added.

Clint grinned in approval.

"Well done, grasshopper."

"What about the stars?" Tony mused with a frown. "Can't see them with the city lights."

Clint shrugged a shoulder.

"So no stars, I think you'll hit a homerun anyway."

But Tony was shaking his head.

"No, it's got to be perfect. If I can't give her _real_ stars, I can give her fake ones." Tony was grinning now and looking determined. "And _you're_ gonna help me, Cupid."

Clint frowned.

* * *

"Why couldn't you just pay someone to do this?" Clint asked as he manhandled the supports of a white silk tent and anchored them down to the rooftop.

"Because she _knows_ things. And the less people involved the more chance I have at actually surprising her," Tony replied untangled a mess of twinkly lights. "Which is where _you_ come in, my one-man manual labor army."

Clint shot him a dry glare and finished anchoring the tent. The wind gusted around them, but the tent held firm, blocking the wind as effectively as Tony had hoped it would.

"Now what?" he asked. Tony handed him the line of lights and pointed to a ladder.

"Right," Clint sighed. A few minutes later he leaning off the ladder to hang the lights across the top of the tent.

"So, the string quartet will be waiting when Pepper and I arrive. You're doing the stars right now. Fireworks are scheduled for after dinner…which you're going to make…" Tony trailed off and busied himself untangling the last few feet of lights.

Clint glanced down at him from his precarious perch.

"I have plans, Tony," he laughed.

"Come on, nobody's spaghetti sauce measures up for her. It's either yours or no one's," Tony needled.

Clint sighed.

"I can make the sauce ahead of time, but the pasta is on you."

"Deal."

Clint went back to hanging the lights while Tony set up the table.

"So," Tony started casually, "what _are_ your plans?"

Clint leaned farther off the ladder as he worked.

"She wants to take the bikes out. Figured we'd head up to Putnam Lake."

Tony nodded in approval.

"Did you get her anything?" he asked curiously.

"New holster for her Makarov," Clint shrugged.

Tony was quiet for a long moment and Clint finally glanced down at him. His friend was watching him thoughtfully.

"You should get her flowers."

Clint scoffed.

"Natasha'd probably laugh in my face if I showed up with flowers."

Tony inclined his head.

"You have a point there. The Russian _is_ different than most women…"

Clint went back to his light hanging.

"But," Tony drew his attention back, "you _should_ take your own advice. Maybe you don't do flowers and candy and the corny crap that Pepper'd kill me for forgetting…but I'm sure you can find a way to make tonight something special. It's Valentine's Day after all. The one day a year men are supposed to go the extra mile."

Clint chewed his lip thoughtfully. He and Nat didn't usually celebrate Valentine's Day. One or both of them had been on a mission in years past. This was the first year they were actually making anything of it. He felt suddenly out of his depth, like he was one wrong move away from screwing it up.

"I'm just saying," Tony shrugged. "You're the one that told me to make tonight about what Pepper loves."

Clint sat back on the ladder, brow furrowed.

As much as he hated to admit it…maybe Tony had a point.

* * *

Tony watched the look of reluctant contemplation take over his friend's expression and took a moment to silently congratulate himself. If he was going to be jumping through hoops all day for the love of _his_ life, he sure as hell was gonna drag Clint along for the ride.

Besides, even super-spy assassin types needed romance every now and then.

But as he watched Clint's expression darken and his brow furrow further, Tony started to doubt his own genius this time around. The last thing his friend needed was _more_ stress in his life, and Tony suddenly had a feeling he'd made that particular load heavier without meaning to.

"She'll love whatever you decide to do," he stated suddenly, but sincerely. "Something tells me Romanoff isn't going to be looking for fireworks in the sky or string quartets."

He met his friends' gaze when it slid towards him. Clint was chewing the inside of his lip, eyes thoughtful.

Tony shrugged as shoulder and watched Clint descend the ladder.

"And you stop imagining all the ways you could screw it up – and I know you, so I _know_ that's what you're doing in that pessimistic head of yours – I'm betting you already know _exactly_ what to do. Because just like I know Pepper, _you_ know Romanoff…better than anyone in the world."

Clint paused as his feet hit the ground and then turned, a sudden smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. Tony found himself smirking in return.

"See, you've already got a plan."

"Half of one," Clint agreed with a sly smirk over his shoulder at Tony.

Tony grinned.

"Let's hear your _half_ a plan. I mean, I let you _help_ me with mine so it's only fair."

Clint's eyebrow arched sarcastically.

" _Let_ me? I pretty sure I was drafted against my will because you refused to hire outside help and you're too lazy to do it yourself."

Tony waved a hand dismissively.

"You _wanted_ to help, somewhere deep down. All that don't leave a man behind and bro-code shit you military types take so seriously."

Even as Clint's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to respond to _that_ , Tony plowed on.

"I did you a favor by taking your advice and letting you help me set up. So when you think about it, you actually _owe me_."

Clint blinked at him doubtfully.

"Owe you…" he repeated blandly.

Tony nodded and waited. He figured this would go one of two ways. Either Clint would accept his reasoning with an eye roll and a chuckle and proceed to share his plan, or he would reject it with a more derisive eye roll and a sarcastic snort and share absolutely nothing. There was no half way option, no middle ground.

Clint chewed the inside of his lip again and narrowed his gaze at Tony.

"If I'm hitting the things Natasha loves, I've got knives, guns, sparring, corny 80s movies," Tony opened his mouth to comment on _that,_ but Clint cut him off with a wave of his hand, "don't ask…her ducati, and ballet."

Tony's eyebrows hit his hairline at the last one, but kept his mouth shut about it in favor of reminding Clint of the very thing his friend had reminded _him_ of not even a couple of hours ago.

"And _you_ ," he pointed out. "Pretty sure she's crazy about _you_ , Big Bird."

Clint barely seemed to hear him as he internally strategized.

"I have a plan," Clint stated suddenly, eyes alight with rising excitement, "but I'm gonna need your help."

Tony clapped his hands together with a smile.

"Where do we start?"

* * *

_Later that evening…_

* * *

"Tony, this was perfect," Pepper sighed she leaned back against Tony's chest where they sat on the roof watching the fireworks. It had been just the perfect blend of some of her favorite things with the little extra flare that made it all undoubtedly orchestrated by Tony. Like a live quartet when most men would have used an iPod. A silk tent with hand-strung twinkle lights so that she could have 'stars' in the middle of the city. And a personal firework show.

He tightened his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

"I had to hit a home run one of these days. With all my strikeouts over the years, the odds were in my favor," he joked.

She twisted to look back at him with a smile.

"Definitely a home run," she assured.

"Yeah?" he asked with a rare hint of self-consciousness.

"Yeah," she affirmed, giving him a kiss before settling back against his chest.

"You didn't do so bad yourself," he commented, glancing back at the painting on display in the tent. "There's only two more that I know of out there now."

"We'll find those too," Pepper whispered quietly.

Tony's arms tightened around her and she smiled.

* * *

_End of Tony's part of Not So Easily Defined_

_Next up is Bruce and after that, the the Clintasha chapter will be the conclusion to this little compilation._

_Happy Valentine's Day from me to you!_

_Drop me a line if you like. And hey, even if you don't like, do it just to make me happy :P_


	4. Bruce

_Well helloooo there! Been a while! I've got some two excuses for you for my long absence. First, wicked writer's block. This chapter was actually sitting in my computer waiting for beta for a LONG time before I remembered it was there. I was saving it for a rainy day and here we are. Second, I've had a bit (a big) of a distraction lately. We found out a few months ago that we're having another baby! We are expecting another little boy in May! yay! After what happened last year we are praying for a healthy pregnancy and are thankful that everything has been smooth so far!_

_But enough about me! On to the next chapter of this fic which has stretched over eons and eons lol. I plan to post the final chapter of it on Valentine's Day (fitting I thought)._

_This was beta'd by my wonderful friends_ **JRBarton** _and_ **Kylen _._** _My third beta,_ **Arlothia** _is busy at work on a fic of mine for another fandom at the moment._

_Last little thing, the portrayal of Bruce and his views of the Hulk are pretty much my headcanon. I don't think i've even seen the earlier Hulk movies...so yeah. So anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

_I finally figured out that not every crisis can be managed. As much as we want to keep ourselves safe, we can't protect ourselves from everything. If we want to embrace life, we also have to embrace chaos.  
 **Susan Elizabeth Phillips**_

* * *

_February 14, 2013  
_ _3:16 pm  
_ _Main Kitchen, Avengers Tower_

* * *

"What? I can't do a surprise?" Clint demanded into his phone with a laugh. He tucked the device between his shoulder and cheek and reached for the basil even as he stirred the homemade sauce he was making.

" _Fine, have your surprise. But if you show up with flowers and candy, I'm never speaking to you again,"_ Natasha replied.

Clint rolled his eyes.

"What? You think I don't know you at all?" He scoffed. "Just be ready at 6, okay?"

" _Fine."_

She hung up and Clint let the phone slide from his shoulder, catching it and tossing it onto the counter. He returned his full attention to the sauce, nodding to himself in satisfaction. It was going to be delicious. He was almost sad he wasn't going to get to eat any of it himself.

He glanced over his shoulder when he sensed someone come quietly into the kitchen.

"Ah, Bruce," he greeted with a smile. "What's up, Doc?" he went on in his best impression of Bugs Bunny. As it always did, the attempt drew a grin from the scientist.

"Spaghetti?" Bruce questioned curiously, wandering over to watch Clint work. "For Pepper and Tony?"

"Who else?" Clint grinned. "Tony's pulling out all the stops tonight and apparently that means spaghetti on the menu."

"How'd you end up enlisted in _Tony's_ Valentine's Day?" Bruce asked with a laugh.

"You know," Clint huffed a laugh, "that's a damn good question. I honestly don't even know, but here I am."

"Seems you're playing quite the Cupid's helper this year," Bruce commented as he watched Clint add more seasonings to the sauce. "Teaching Thor to cook, long talks with Steve, playing chef for Tony…"

Clint gave his friend a deadly serious glare.

"Use the term 'Cupid's helper' one more time. I _dare_ you."

Bruce laughed and held up his hands in apology.

"Sorry," he offered. "I'm mostly wondering if you've got one more heart-shaped arrow in your quiver."

Clint slowly turned his glare to the doctor, eyebrow arching in annoyance.

"Sorry," Bruce apologized with a chuckle. "I couldn't resist."

"You have a funny way of asking for help, Doc," Clint muttered, studying his sauce as he stirred it again.

When Bruce didn't speak again, Clint slid a curious glance at him. The doctor was studying his cuticles with ridiculous intensity.

"What's on your mind, Bruce?" Clint asked with a resigned sigh. Apparently it was his fate to be everybody's go-to guy today.

"Betty," Bruce stated bluntly. "Betty's on my mind."

Clint barely stopped himself from dramatically freezing and staring at his friend in shock. Instead, he chewed his lower lip and tried to figure out what exactly Bruce wanted from him here.

"What about her?" he asked carefully.

"I left her, you know." Bruce commented, leaning back against the counter next to the stove and bracing his hands back near his hips. "To protect her from _him_."

Clint nodded slowly and stayed silent, still not sure where Bruce was going with this.

"I didn't have a handle on him back then. I couldn't control him."

"And now?" Clint wondered.

"Now…" Bruce sighed. "It's better. It's not perfect, I know. He still gets triggered sometimes like with you and Steve in the gym that time."

Clint nodded. He remembered that nearly disastrous morning training session very well.

"But it's better," Bruce stated again.

Clint stirred the sauce quietly. When Bruce didn't say anything else, Clint cleared his throat.

"I don't really know what you want from me here, Bruce…"

Bruce sighed and took off his glasses, absently cleaning them on his shirt and then sliding them back on.

"Could you find her? Could you use your resources at SHIELD to find her?"

Now Clint stopped stirring, turning to face Bruce fully.

"You want to find Betty?" he asked in surprise.

Bruce quickly shook his head.

"No, well, yes, but _no_."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"What?" he shook his head in confusion.

"I don't want to find her," Bruce stated firmly. "But I want to know where she is."

Clint frowned.

"Bruce, you _do_ realize you're not making any sense, right?"

The scientist sighed, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Bruce," Clint started slowly, "if you want me to find her, I can do that for you. But I need you to be clear with me on what you _want_ here."

"I don't know," Bruce admitted. "I just can't stop thinking about her."

Clint turned back to his sauce.

"You left her to protect her," he commented slowly. "To protect her from Hulk, who you couldn't control back then."

"I still can't control him all the time," Bruce pointed out.

Clint inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Yeah, but I think we both know that those incidents are rare and usually have an instigating factor."

Bruce nodded, giving Clint a long look.

"Recent memory points to _you_ as that instigating factor."

Clint rolled his eyes. It wasn't a lie. Hulk's recent outbursts had all tended to involve Clint getting himself into trouble.

"Hey, it's not my fault the big guy's an overprotective worrier."

Bruce gave him a long, doubtful look.

"What?" Clint snapped defensively.

"It kind of _is_ your fault, Clint," Bruce pointed out slowly. "You and your impressive – and somewhat horrifying – ability to attract trouble."

Clint frowned. It wasn't like he went _looking_ for trouble.

"I'm not saying that it's a bad thing," Bruce added quickly. "Before you, I never even knew the other guy could _have_ protective instincts, much less be capable of acting on them. And now…" Bruce trailed off with a slight shrug.

Clint absently stirred his sauce, brow furrowing in thought. Bruce was laying a trail of breadcrumbs for him in this conversation, a very vague and spotty trail, but a trail nonetheless.

"Now you're…wondering if he'd protect _her_?" Clint theorized.

Bruce drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

Clint nodded slowly.

"But…" he prodded, because if it was that simple Bruce wouldn't be waffling all over the place.

"What if he doesn't?"

And there it was. It all came back to that, to Bruce's deepest fear. The whole reason he'd left the love of his life to begin with.

Clint knew better than to offer any fake reassurances. So instead, he just offered the truth…as he saw it at least.

"Look, Bruce, Hulk is big and green and dangerous and has the potential to hurt every single person he comes into contact with."

Bruce paled a little, a frown turning down the corners of his lips. He'd obviously been hoping for a better pep talk.

" _But_ ," Clint went on quickly, "he's never hurt me. And whenever I've needed that big, green, dangerous guy in my corner, he was there. Now I don't know what that means for anybody else, but for _me_ …"He couldn't help but think about all the years he had _no one_ in his corner…until Phil. He just shook his head and let that thought rest, moving on to the real point, "And it should tell you that you're maybe not the only one that's learned a little more self-control over the years."

Bruce's gaze grew thoughtful and reflective. Clint gave him a few moments of silence and then they both looked at Clint's phone when it started vibrating, loudly playing Bon Jovi's 'It's My Life'. The name 'Iron Ass' lit up the screen.

"Look, I'll make some calls and track her down, okay? Then, you can go from there."

Bruce nodded hesitantly, but didn't leave. Clint let his phone go to voicemail.

"Unless you don't want me to find her…" Clint hedged.

His phone started vibrating again, the ringtone blasting into the air. They both glanced at the screen.

Iron Ass.

"Find her," Bruce decided firmly. Then he nodded at the phone. "He'll just keep calling."

Clint chuckled.

"And leaving colorful messages, I know."

He reached for the phone even as Bruce offered him a word of thanks and headed out of the kitchen. Clint slid his finger across his phone and brought it to his ear.

"Did you get them?" he demanded immediately.

" _I said I would, didn't I?"_ Tony shot back. _"Were you screening me a minute ago?"_

"Tony, if I was screening your call, I wouldn't have answered at all."

" _I figured you'd just listened to my cleverly worded message and decided not to tempt fate."_

Clint frowned and was suddenly incredibly torn between listening to the message, or deleting it immediately.

" _And before you ask, I got the other thing ready too and Pepper got the_ _ **other**_ _other thing. How is it that I'm doing more for_ _ **your**_ _Valentine's Day than I did for mine?"_

"Uh, that's because _I_ did everything for your Valentine's Day, Tony."

" _Right."_ Clint could _hear_ the self-congratulatory smirk in Tony's voice without ever having to see it. _"Speaking of, that sauce better be perfect. Pepper will know if you half-assed it."_

Clint rolled his eyes.

"How about you worry about my Valentine's Day and I'll worry about yours."

He paused, frowning slightly as the utter ridiculousness of what he'd just said sunk in.

" _Hanging up now,"_ Tony stated abruptly, apparently just as weirded out by the whole scenario as Clint suddenly was.

"Yeah," Clint agreed, dropping the phone down and ending the call.

He shook his head slightly to clear it and then navigated through his contacts. He paused on the name 'Control Freak' and tapped it. Then he brought the phone back up to his ear and returned most of his attention to the sauce.

" _Hill."_

"It's Barton. I need you to do me a solid."

* * *

_5:45pm_

* * *

Bruce stared at the tablet on the table in front of him, but didn't really see it. It had only been a couple of hours since he'd talked to Clint, but Bruce hadn't been able to force himself to focus on anything but that conversation since.

Betty.

Clint was going to find Betty and then tell Bruce where she was.

And then…then…then what? What would Bruce do then?

He was still puzzling, _fretting_ really, over what he would do with that information once he had it, when the elevator dinged. The doors started to move and Clint came sliding out before they'd fully opened.

The archer ate up the distance between them at a half-jog, already shifting a backpack off his back.

"Hey, look, I don't have a lot of time, but, uh…" He pulled out a flash drive. "Here." He held it out to Bruce.

"What…" Was that it?

"This drive has her location on it, Bruce, and whatever other crap SHIELD knew about her," Clint stated bluntly, waving the flash drive a little in an attempt to get him to take it.

Bruce just stared at him. There, on that little flash drive, was Betty.

Part of him wanted to snatch it out of Clint's hand and another part of him wanted to take a blow torch to it.

Clint frowned, an eyebrow arching warily.

"Do you still want it?" he asked carefully.

Bruce nodded, but he still didn't move. He couldn't make himself.

Clint stood there, flash drive in his outstretched hand.

"I'm not going to _give_ this to you, Bruce," Clint said slowly. "You have to take it."

He understood what Clint was doing. This had to be Bruce's choice. He had to _want_ it. Clint wouldn't take on the burden of forcing the knowledge on him and Bruce couldn't ask him to.

Slowly, he reached out and took the drive from Clint.

Once it was free of his grasp, Clint dropped his hand and reached for the zipper on his backpack.

A flash of metal caught Bruce's eye and he craned his neck a little for a better look.

"Wait, are those knives?" he asked curiously.

Clint sharply zipped the bag closed, hiding the contents once again.

"What? A guy can't like knives?" the archer shot back defensively, tossing the bag back onto his back. He started back towards the elevator, obviously in some sort of hurry.

Even knowing that, Bruce couldn't stop himself from calling him back.

"Clint?"

The assassin paused at the elevator and looked back with an eyebrow arched in question.

"What would you do?" Bruce asked quietly.

Clint hesitated, chewed his lip and glanced down at his watch. He seemed to decide that whatever he was late for could wait because he walked back to Bruce's work table.

"All I know, man," he told him, "is I've walked away from Natasha exactly once. In the three and a half years since we took that step and became what we are, only _once_. And to this day, it is one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. It's one of my worst regrets. I almost didn't get a chance to make it right. I almost _lost_ her because of my own goddamned pride."

"But you went back to her," Bruce deduced.

"Bruce, I didn't just go back, I _ran,_ " Clint said firmly. "Because none of the shit that made me walk away could ever compare to what it felt like to imagine the rest of my life without her in it."

Bruce searched his friend's gaze, seeing so clearly how much Natasha meant to him. It was so clear for Clint. Why couldn't it be that clear for him?

"I might hurt her. _He_ might hurt her," Bruce pointed out.

Clint gave him a look like he was just _stupid_ and Bruce found himself frowning in vague offense even as Clint replied.

"And you leaving her _didn't_ hurt her?"

"It's not the same," Bruce insisted. Because it wasn't, it wasn't even close.

"No, it's not," Clint agreed immediately. "But no relationship is perfect. Nat and I? We hurt each other. Sometimes physically and sometimes in other ways. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes _un_ intentionally. It's called being human, or in our case being SHIELD agents who count sparring practice as quality time."

Bruce couldn't hold back a chuckle at the apt description of Clint and Natasha's relationship. Clint cracked a grin of his own before sobering with a sigh.

"Look, Bruce…people hurt people. That's just life. You worry about Hulk hurting her? Tasha's a spy, every time she goes on a mission without me I worry that it'll be the time some asshole gets lucky and takes her out. But at the end of the day I have to trust her to look after herself.

"You can't always stop people from hurting you or the people you care about, sometimes you can't always stop yourself from hurting others. But what you _can_ do, is control _who_ you let close enough to do the hurting and who you let close enough to be in the line of fire."

"So what are you saying?" Bruce asked. "I should keep her out of the line of fire?"

"No. What I'm saying is that if _you_ get the right to choose, then so should _she_."

Bruce sat back in his chair, Clint's reasoning ringing painfully true. He held the archer's gaze as he went on.

"When I had to make that choice, I chose Natasha. Because being with her was worth whatever pain she brought my way. And there has _been_ pain, Bruce. She and I have been through some heavy shit, but we made it through to the other side and it was _worth it_."

Bruce sighed. He heard what Clint was saying, he _did_. But weren't they supposed to _protect_ people – especially the people who were most important to them?

"But putting yourself on the line, risking your own safety – emotionally and physically – is different than making the same choice when it risks _hers_ ," he pointed out. He didn't see how Clint justified it. It wasn't the same for them. Clint didn't run the risk of blitzing out into a giant green rage monster and _killing_ everyone around him.

He was surprised when the archer just scoffed sarcastically.

"You think I don't worry about hurting her? You think I _haven't_ hurt her? Bruce, I _knifed_ her once coming out of a dream. Like _literally_ cut her with a knife. So, _yeah_ , I worry about it. Hell, why wouldn't I? If there's anything I've learned through my life, it's that my touch is practically poison."

Bruce frowned deeply now, opening his mouth to try to counter that last statement, but Clint just blew past it and kept talking. It was like he didn't even realize he'd said it.

"But I don't let _my_ fears get in the way, Bruce. One, because I'm too damn selfish to give her up. Two, if _I_ get to make the choice to put myself on the line, then she damn well gets to make that choice for herself. I don't get to make it for her." By the end, Clint's tone had grown hard and sharp, giving away how strongly he believed his own words.

Bruce looked down at the flash drive in his hand, letting the reality of Clint's words sink in. He heard the archer sigh and looked up in time to see him check his watch and then rub wearily at his eyes.

"Look, I'm just saying, relationships aren't just about what one person wants, or one person needs. It has to be about both of you. If it's not, then you're making your decisions for the wrong reasons."

Bruce regarded his younger friend seriously as Clint stared levelly back at him. There was wisdom in Clint's words, wisdom born of experience. He'd chosen to share that wisdom, even though Bruce _knew_ the man wasn't big on talking.

He decided to let him off the hook.

"You really are Cupid's Helper," Bruce teased, to let Clint know he'd heard him, and he didn't have to keep going. He was pleased when Clint's open and honest gaze shifted to a glare.

"I warned you about the name calling."

Bruce held up his hands in vague apology.

"Hey, if the wings fit."

Clint growled something low in his throat.

"Between you and Tony, I'm starting to hate this holiday. You're lucky that I'm already running late and can't spare the time to kick your _ass_."

"Oh really?" Bruce scoffed as Clint headed back to the elevator. "Giant green rage monster, remember?"

Clint walked into the elevator and leveled Bruce with a deadly smirk.

"Yeah, a giant green rage monster that likes me a hell of a lot more than he likes _you_. I bet with a little convincing, I could get him to stick around on a more permanent basis."

Bruce frowned, giving Clint a doubtful glare.

"You wouldn't."

Clint just smirked at him until the elevator doors closed and hid him from view.

Bruce sat forward in his chair, eyeing the closed door a little warily.

He wouldn't… _couldn't_.

Not entire certain of his own claim on the matter, Bruce turned his focus to the flash drive.

All he had to do was plug it in and he'd know where she was. He could go to her. He could fall on his knees and beg her to love him again.

Or she could very well be married and happy and hate him.

He slid the cover off the end of the flash drive and brought it towards his tablet.

He could be with her again. Maybe they could be happy.

But maybe Hulk wasn't ready for that. Maybe bringing her back into his life would be a stressor. Maybe it would make him backslide.

Maybe he'd hurt her.

He slowly slid the cover back on. He stood and moved over to the wall, shifting aside a poster of the periodic table to reveal a safe. A thumb print and key code later, it was open. After another moment of hesitation, he slid the flash drive into the safe. He stared at it for a moment longer and then closed the door, locked it and put the poster back in place.

Clint had said he didn't let his own fear get in the way. Maybe Bruce just wasn't as brave as him. He'd said that being with Natasha was as much _her_ choice as it was his. But Bruce wasn't ready to give Betty the choice. He was worried she'd choose wrong. He was worried her choice would get her hurt or worse.

He wasn't ready. Not yet. Maybe one day he would be…

But not today.

* * *

_End of Bruce's Valentine's Day_

_Just to remind, this little fic takes place BEFORE "The Heart Bleeds" so Clint hasn't been through the whole thinking Nat was dead thing yet. Anyway, all that's left is the Clint and Nat chapter! Then this little epic will be done._

_I'm hoping to get the next christmas fic beta'd and posted around Christmas Day, but no promises. We'll see. If not, I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season, no matter what holiday you celebrate! I personally, wish you a Merry Christmas from my family to yours!_


	5. Natasha

_Ahhhh better late than never! I sinceriously (bonus points if you get THAT reference) meant to get this out days ago, but I was a distracted person (potty training a 2.5 year old is no task for the weak willed or minded) and I didn't get it to my betas in time. But here we are! The long time coming finale of Not So Easily Defined. This whole fic started as a one-shot and then it got lengthened by reader request. And now finally concluded. We've seen Clint play cupid for Thor, Steve, Tony and Bruce and now, finally, he gets to play cupid for Natasha in what I hope is a fluffy, fun clintasha chapter that makes you all happy :D_

_This was beta'd by my wonderful friends_ **JRBarton** _and_ **Kylen _._** _My third beta,_ **Arlothia** _is busy at work on a fic of mine for another fandom at the moment._

_There are implied sexy times so just be aware, as usual with me, nothing is shown or spoken about, just...hinted. This fic hasn't had any of that and I figured I should warn you._

* * *

_I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough._   
**Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook**   


* * *

_February 14, 2013  
_ _6:15 p.m._  
Natasha's Room, Avengers Tower

* * *

Natasha arched her eyebrow at her own reflection, giving herself one last critical once-over. Make up? Immaculate. Hair? Still shorter than she liked, but styled into soft waves that brushed her shoulders. She stepped back so she could see more of herself in the mirror. Outfit? Well, if the form fitting, silky emerald green evening gown didn't leave Clint drooling at her heels then the boy didn't have eyes.

As if on cue, a sharp knock came at the main door to her apartment suite.

She checked her reflection in the mirror one more time and then left her bathroom. She snagged her heels off the floor as she went and carried them with her out into the main living space. Another knock came at the door.

"Really, Clint?" she called out as she padded in bare feet to the door. "You practically live here and you're knocking on the door like we're in middle school." She glanced at the clock as she reached for the handle. "And you're doing it _fifteen_ minutes la-" she trailed off as she jerked the door open and caught sight of what was waiting for her on the other side.

Clint was wearing a tailored black tux, complete with a sloppily tied bow-tie and a black coat tossed over one arm. He was standing casually, a hand hidden behind his back and looked a little frazzled.

"Sorry I'm late," he offered, not yet seeming to notice her gaping jaw or wide eyes. "Tux's are a _bitch_ and I hate them," he added bluntly.

Natasha just continued to stare, taking her time running her eyes over him – from perfectly styled hair down to his expertly shined dress shoes and then back up to meet his eyes. The frazzled look had faded and in its place was a self-satisfied smirk.

She felt her own lips quirk, unashamed at getting caught staring.

"Well, the payout was definitely worth the wait," she assured. "Except the tie." She dropped her shoes to the floor and stepped closer to adjust the bow-tie until it looked less like a two-year-old had tied it. "You never did learn how to tie one of these things."

Clint shrugged a shoulder, just as obvious about running his gaze up and down her body as she had been when she did it to him.

"You know how often I wear crap like this?"

"Not often," she answered with a chuckle.

"Exactly. Definitely not enough to bother learning how to tie a damn bow tie."

She stepped back when she'd fixed the tie and couldn't help but feel a measure of pride when he finished his visual appraisal and immediately shook his head in amazement.

"Damn, woman," was all he said. But with the way he was looking at her, it was all he _needed_ to say for her to get the message.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Barton," she teased.

He grinned.

"Yeah, well, combat boots and a leather jacket wouldn't have exactly fit in where we're going."

Natasha stepped back to slide her shoes on even as she gave him a curious glance.

"And where exactly _is_ that? Because all I know is that Pepper showed up on my doorstep an hour and a half ago with this dress and started issuing orders. I was actually kind of impressed that she didn't crack under questioning."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"You _interrogated_ Pepper?"

Natasha shrugged and reached for her coat hanging on a hook near the door.

"I only count it as interrogation if I actually _get_ information. She must have had some sort of training."

Clint tilted his head in agreement.

"Well she _is_ dating Tony Stark. That's a kind of training all on its own."

Natasha laughed, and then arched a brow at the hand Clint still hid behind his back.

"What are you hiding?"

"Oh, this?" he pulled his hand out and held out a set of throwing knives, tied together with a ribbon. "Figured it beat the hell out of flowers."

Natasha couldn't help her smile as she took the knives from him.

"You got me a bouquet of knives."

"Yeah, well, flowers die. _Those things_ have perfect balance _and_ they'll last a lifetime."

Natasha bit her lip in a failed attempt to keep her smile under control. _This man_. It was like he could read her mind.

She slid one of the knives free of the ribbon and spun it expertly around her fingers. He was right, the balance _was_ perfect. These things would throw beautifully.

She backed into her apartment to set the rest of the knives on the table by the door, but kept the one in her hand.

"Tash?" Clint stepped into the doorway, eyeing her curiously.

She gave him a smirk and lifted a leg, propping her foot on the table and hiking her skirt up above her thigh. She slid the new knife under the strap for the sheath she kept _another_ knife in.

Clint put a hand on his chest and made a sound that had her smirk growing.

"God _damn_ , Natasha, are you trying to end this night before we can even get it started?"

She didn't respond with anything but a coy grin as she put her foot back on the ground and straightened her dress.

"Then we best get this show on the road," she suggested.

Clint's posture straightened and a grin lit up his features.

"Then that brings us to the _next_ surprise."

"Oooo," Natasha smiled in anticipation, "there's more than the knives?"

"What? You think I strapped on this monkey suit for kicks?"

He reached a hand into his tux jacket, retrieving two thin pieces of paper from his breast pocket. He slid them apart, revealing them to be tickets of some sort. She narrowed her eyes curiously.

"You and me, New York City Ballet, tonight."

He handed the tickets over to her and she felt her jaw loosen in shock as she read them over.

_Tchaitovsky's The Sleeping Beauty._

"You got me ballet tickets?"

"I know what ballet means to you." Natasha tore her eyes off the tickets to meet his earnest gaze as he explained. " _They_ taught it to you and it's something that could have been terrible and traumatizing, something that you could have hated. But you loved it instead. I know what it is to have something like that, to have something that somehow gets you through when things go to hell. I know what it is to have something come from a horrible part of your life and end up meaning the world to you anyway."

Natasha felt her expression soften. Of course he knew what ballet meant to her. His bow meant the same thing to him.

"Besides," he grinned a little, lightening the moment, "I've never seen a ballet, unless you count all the times I've watched _you_. And I even promise to stay awake the for the entire show," he joked.

Natasha shook her head in amusement and stepped up to him, pressing her lips against his in an impulsive but well-deserved gesture of thanks. She pulled back after a moment, but only far enough so she could look him in the eye.

"Thank you."

He smiled warmly.

"Thank Tony, he's the one that scored the tickets…just don't thank him _quite_ like that."

Natasha huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes as he took her hand and pulled her towards the elevator.

* * *

Natasha was enraptured.

As the ballet dancers flowed around the stage, she couldn't tear her eyes away. It was beautiful.

Memories came to her in waves, ebbing and flowing like the tide. Some of them brought back phantom pain and fear, but others nothing but joy. She had loved ballet, despite her teachers, despite what they'd turned her into.

Movement on the edge of her vision caught her attention and she looked to her left, where Clint was seated next to her. He had a coin, a normal quarter, that he was almost rhythmically flipping around his fingers. She glanced up at his face, but he was deeply concentrated on the performance, brow creased as he studied the dancers while they moved. She glanced back down at the coin, watching it flow over his lithe fingers as if putting on its own performance.

It was an absent activity. Clint was rarely completely still unless he _had_ to be. He was always moving in some way. She fought back an affectionate grin as she returned her attention to the dancers. He was actually trying. He was not only staying awake for the show; he was actively paying attention. He _was_ fidgeting with a coin, but if it kept him from getting antsy, she didn't mind.

Abruptly, he shifted in his seat. She glanced over in time to see the coin effortlessly switch over to his left hand, leaving his right, the one next to her, idle on his thigh. The coin kept moving, gliding over the fingers of his left hand as effortlessly as it had the fingers of his right.

His gaze never left the stage, though, his attention remained unerringly on the performance.

Natasha felt her lips quirk and on an impulse, she reached over, sliding her hand under his arm and lacing her fingers with his. He didn't jump, didn't flinch, but the way the coin paused in its dance across his fingers gave away his surprise at the gesture.

She saw the corner of his mouth turn up and his hand tightened around hers.

The coin started moving again and Natasha let her mouth spread into a real grin as she turned her gaze back to the stage.

* * *

Natasha couldn't stop smiling as they walked out of the theater.

That fact alone made it impossible to keep his own smile contained as Clint held her coat open for her. Wordlessly, and still smiling, she slid her arms into it, allowing him to settle it on her shoulders.

Her smile never faltered as she turned to watch him shrug into his own overcoat.

Clint wanted to freeze the moment.

Her smiles had started to come quicker and easier over their years together, especially when they were alone. But on a whole – in his opinion at least – they were still too rare.

Something in her face shifted, and though her smile remained, it was less joyous and leaning more toward bemusement.

"What?" he asked curiously, glancing towards the street as their car pulled up – Happy was on loan from Tony for the night.

"You," she shook her head in amazement. "You _nailed_ Valentine's Day and I gotta say, I didn't think you had it in you."

He scoffed in feigned affront and moved her towards their waiting town car by pressing his hand to the small of her back.

"I think I should be offended by that," he joked as he opened the door and motioned her in ahead of him. "But I'll let it slide."

He followed Natasha into the car and watched her pull a bag up from the floorboards – a bag he knew hadn't been there when they were dropped off.

He watched her brow furrow in confusion and couldn't help his smug grn.

He loved it when a plan came together.

* * *

Natasha stared down at the bag in confusion. It was Clint's, that much she knew, but…

"How did this get here?" she asked in confusion.

She glanced at Clint to find him grinning proudly.

"What's going on?" she asked warily.

"Open it," he gestured at the bag.

She arched an eyebrow and unzipped the bag. She pulled out her leather jacket first, then a long sleeved thermal shirt that looked too big for her. She found a similar one, closer to _her_ size, underneath it. Then came _Clint's_ leather jacket, followed by two sets of jeans and socks.

She looked back at Clint in confusion.

"Time for a wardrobe change," he told her.

He reached forward and knocked on the window between them and Happy. The window rolled down and two sets of boots were handed back. Then the window rolled up again.

"Unless you _want_ to take the bikes out dressed like that?" he gave her teasing grin.

"The bikes?" she wondered in confusion as she watched him strip out of his overcoat, then his tux jacket.

"Yeah." He pulled at his bow tie until it came loose then he wadded it up and tossed it aside before going after the buttons on his shirt. "You think I spent the better part of last night getting rid of that rattle in your bike just to leave her to sit all alone in the garage?"

"But…" Natasha couldn't process what was happening. "But I thought the ballet was our Valentine's Day…"

"It was," Clint agreed, pulling off his dress shirt. "But it was only the _first_ part. There's more."

"More?" she questioned.

" _Yes_." He chuckled. "Now _change_."

Natasha felt a slow grin turn up her lips and then she pulled off her jacket.

"You and your bony elbows are gonna be the death of me," Clint groused as he climbed out of the car ahead of Natasha. He rubbed at the tender spot on his temple.

"Well," Natasha grumbled, "you try changing out of a dress in the back of a moving vehicle with _you_ taking up more than your fair share of space."

Clint rolled his eyes and zipped up his leather jacket.

He knocked on the front passenger window of the car while Natasha zipped up hers. The window rolled down and the driver held out first his helmet then Natasha's. Clint handed off Nat's to her and then leaned through the window, accepting the keys the driver held out with an appreciative grin.

"Thanks, Happy, have a good night."

"Yes sir, Mr. Barton," Happy gave him a wave and after Clint stepped back the window rolled up again.

Clint turned to Natasha, who was watching him with a grin he couldn't interpret.

"What?" he asked as he tossed her the key to her bike. She caught it without even really looking and fell into step with him as he led the way to where he and Tony had stashed their motorcycles earlier that day.

"Nothing," she replied, but the grin didn't fade.

They reached the motorcycles and climbed on in near synchronization.

"So, where are we going?" Natasha asked.

Clint tossed her a smirk.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he teased and then pulled his helmet on. Through his visor, he saw her huff and shake her head. Then she pulled her helmet on too. A few moments later, he was leading the way north and out of the city.

Once they made it off the island, he opened up the throttle. On his right, Natasha matched the increase in speed without hesitation. The roads were mostly abandoned and they made quick progress. It felt amazing, to be out on the open road, wind whipping around him, Natasha at his side. It had been too long since they'd done this.

They made it to their destination almost too quickly, in his opinion. But on the plus side, it was _damn_ cold and he was glad to be able to get inside.

They stopped in front of the small cabin off Putnam Lake and both rolled their bikes into a small shed off to the right. He pulled off his helmet and closed the shed after them.

"Where are we?" Natasha asked as she pulled off her helmet and followed him towards the cabin.

"Your observation skills could use some brushing up," he teased as he jogged up the porch steps and reached for the cabin door. "It's obviously a cabin."

Natasha rolled her eyes and preceded him through the door he held open for her.

She froze just inside and he smiled as he slid in behind her, closing the door and then stepping around her. He hadn't actually _seen_ the set up here, this had been Pepper's project. Clint wasn't clear on if she'd done it _herself_ or if she'd hired someone, but either way, she'd gotten it done.

There was a fire roaring in the fireplace, a gigantic flat screen TV mounted on the wall. On the floor between that and the couch was bed of pillows and blankets that looked _incredibly_ comfortable. There was a stack of movies on the floor. And if his nose served him, all the food he'd specified was being kept warm in the oven.

He looked back at Natasha, surprised that she hadn't said anything yet.

She was standing, mouth hanging open, taking in the set up with wide eyes.

"How did you _do_ all of this?" she finally asked.

"Well, I had some back up," he admitted. "I was just the brilliant master mind."

Her gaze focused on him then, a familiar light in her eyes that had his throat going dry in anticipation.

She stepped up to him and reached for the zipper on his jacket, slowly pulling it down and sliding the jacket off his shoulders. Her hands traveled slowly back down his chest and reached for the hem of his shirt.

He made a completely pathetic sound in the back of his throat that had her smirking.

"You're not playing fair," he managed to force out as her hands slid under his shirt and then tugged it up, pulling it free of his body in one smooth move.

"What?" she purred innocently, though the look in her eyes was anything _but_ innocent. "You can't have a movie without a _preview_."

He groaned when her hands went for the waist band of his jeans. Never one to let her do all the work, he went on the offensive. His hands threaded up into the hair at the back of her neck and kissed her, walking her backwards until they stumbled – mostly _fell_ – onto the makeshift bed of blankets on the floor.

* * *

Clint, back braced against a stack of large pillows stuffed against the couch and a blanket tangled around his waist, folded his newest slice of pizza in half and slid it into his mouth. Next to him, wrapped in a blanket of her own, Natasha was tossing down a piece of crust and crawling forward to grab her next slice.

"Pizza," she commented as she fell back against the pillows they were propped on and nudged her way under his arm so she could lay against his chest, "was a _great_ call."

Clint chuckled and watched Ralph Macchio learn the famed 'wax on, wax off' training method on the TV.

"When is pizza _not_ a great call?" he challenged, taking another large bite out of his.

She tilted her head on his chest, her tangled hair tickling his chin.

"True," she allowed.

For a few minutes they watched the movie in silence.

"You know, you didn't have to let me pick the movie," he commented. "I did all this for _you_."

"I know," she turned so she could look up at him, "but you sat through a _ballet_ for me. So I figured letting you pick the first movie was the least I could do."

"Oh yeah, you're a real giver," he teased.

The elbow to his ribs as she shifted was expected and wasn't particularly painful, but he grunted dramatically anyway.

"I _am_ ," she agreed. "I think I proved _that_ before the movie."

Clint smirked. He couldn't argue there.

"You know," he commented as he took another bite of his pizza, "this whole Valentine's Day thing doesn't suck."

She huffed a little laugh and picked a piece of pepperoni off her pizza, popping it into her mouth.

"No it definitely doesn't. Although, I have to say I was surprised that you were _literally_ everyone's go-to for romance advice."

Clint feigned being wounded.

"I happen to be an expert on romance."

"Saying it doesn't make it true, Cupid," Natasha teased. "I know the truth."

"And what truth is that?"

She grinned and twisted to look up at him.

"That you spell romance with gunpowder, bullets, and _knives_." She flicked a finger towards her new Makarov holster and the throwing knife that was resting on top of it.

Clint smirked.

"And _ballet_ apparently, or have you forgotten that already?"

Instead of continuing the banter, her expression softened.

"I haven't forgotten," she assured warmly. "Our version of romance is my favorite," she added softly. Then she smirked, "But you can't blame me for being surprised that everyone else subscribed to our version too."

Clint rolled his eyes.

"They _didn't_. They all have their own versions of romance, and they _all_ conscripted me against my will. It's not like I was running around in wings with heart-shaped arrows shooting people in the ass and throwing pink confetti."

Natasha's eyes lit up and she stifled a laugh.

"Now _that's_ a visual I can't unsee," she teased.

"Shut up," Clint groused, teasingly nudging her to face forward again. "Watch the movie."

For a few minutes, they did just that.

Then Natasha was twisting to see his face again.

"What were their versions?" she asked.

He gave her a confused glance.

"Who's versions of what?"

"The others," she reminded. "You said they all had different versions of romance."

"Oh…well, you know. Just different than ours...more _romance-y_ …more hearts, less knives. Boring really."

Natasha arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"Come on," she nudged him with her elbow. "You can do better than that."

Clint sighed.

"You too, huh? You gonna force me into the wings and stab me with a heart arrow and make me psychoanalyze that shit?"

She just stared at him until he sighed.

" _Fine._ First you've got Thor, who shows Jane he loves her by doing things for her. He's essentially a god. He _is_ a future king. He does things for her, when all his life he's had others do things _for him._ By learning to cook, by doing that for her _himself_ , he's trying to tell her that he loves her _._ "

Natasha sat up, turning to give him her full attention.

"Then you've got Steve," he went on. "Who shows Peggy he loves her by _being there_. By showing up. He does it even though it hurtshim _,_ even though he knows he'll never get to be with her. He's a guy that can be counted on, a constant.

"Then there's Tony," Clint smirked, "he wants to yell it from rooftops or write it in the sky. He's loud and obnoxious and he's so in love with Pepper that he wants everyone to know it. He doesn't always know _how_ to show her, but he tries allthe time, usually in a way that makes no sense to anyone but him. But he _tries_."

She was watching him with a look he couldn't quite decipher, so he just arched an eyebrow and finished.

"Then there's Bruce. Who just…can't. He loves Betty. But he loves her so much that he won't let himself be with her. He's afraid and he's letting that fear make his choices for him. He just wants to protect her. And he thinks the only way he can let himself love her is by doing it from a distance. He thinks that he's doing it for the right reasons but…" Clint sighed, frowning slightly, "I just don't think he gets it, you know?"

Natasha nodded knowingly.

"He asked me to find her," Clint went on absently.

She nodded. "What do you think he's going to do?"

Clint shook his head.

"I don't know. I don't…" he blew out a breath. "I don't think he's ready. But asking for her location is good step so maybe one day."

Natasha nodded, humming thoughtfully as she watched him finish off his pizza.

"You know," she purred, "I was wrong about you."

Clint arched an eyebrow as she moved, shifting to straddling his hips.

"Oh yeah?" he questioned. "What were you wrong about?"

"You _do_ know romance," she smiled, "more than just our kind."

He smiled.

"Ours is still my favorite," he murmured as she leaned in to kiss him.

She pulled back and unwrapped the blanket she had around her torso, letting it fall away.

"Mine too," she agreed before kissing him again.

He could _definitely_ get used to this whole Valentine's Day thing.

* * *

_End (at long last) of Not So Easily Defined_

_And there we have it! Hope you enjoyed things long and winding ride. This fic is finally complete...after all this time. *hugs* from me to you and extra hugs if you drop me a line down below ;)_

_later gators!_


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